A Season of Sorrows Unending -- the Cerberus Files : Secondary Races
by LogicalPremise
Summary: A collection of Cerberus documents providing insight into alien history, biology, cultures and military forces of the volus, elcor and yahg. Tied into my alternative universe fics (Of Sheep and Battlechicken) and quite dark. Sort of my take on Renegade Reinterpretations, except more like 'bloodthirsty lunatic reinterpretations with an axe.' M for profanity.
1. Chapter 1 : Introduction

**A/N:** _The next Cerberus file is unique in that it will be mostly written by other authors, those in the Editing Gang. This is for two reasons. First, any cultural anthropologist will tell you that when researching and cross-referencing cultural states or history, we all have biases. While I crafted the very basic outlines of these two races, I feel it's best if I don't fill in the fine details to prevent my biases from making them too similar – i.e., fucked up – as other races in the Premiseverse. The volus, elcor, and yahg are all *very strange* by our lights… but UNLIKE the other races in the PV, they are not cruel, corrupt, or obsessed with supremacy, racial cleansing, or nobility._

 _The second reason is that many of my contributors ( **Jacob** , **nogoodnms** , **mrosera** ) are excellent writers, while others ( **ArielFetters** , **Shalum** ) are authors of note on the scene in their own right, and I'd like very much to have those talents seen by as wide an audience as possible._

 _While the volus probably seem at first to be hard to wrap your mind around, that is by intent – they are *alien*. The elcor are even more alien and the yahg have almost nothing in common with humanity at all, not even most emotional states fit. Yahg fear is what we would consider anger, yahg anger is what we could call, I suppose, disdain or dismissal, and yahg joy is such a strange concept that the closest best fit is something like a sociopath's release during violence._

 _That does not make them evil. Merely different._

* * *

 **The Cerberus Files : Secondary Races**

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 **SYSFILL 493337-SUB-SIX:** _Cross check complete_

 **HERA-SIX-NINE-NINE :: TRELLANI-699**

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 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: TRELLANI**

* * *

Beloved,

I am not sure if this is your idea of humor or if you are attempting to, perhaps, give Doctor Minsta an aneurysm, but either reason is in _very_ poor taste.

Galen Minsta dislikes asari for a number of good reasons that stem from emotional distress, professional affront, racist pride, and intellectual rigor. He and I have come to something of a détente in regards to his views. While most of what he believes is either warped or simply wrong, the reasons behind him holding such beliefs can be traced back to the Thirty, and thus I see no reason to correct him.

An asari stole his wife, an asari ruined his intellectual career, an asari bankrupted his company producing a much superior product through financial trickery. I can safely say the good doctor has a potent array of emotional, but rational, reasons to hate my people.

His daughter, on the other hand, hates asari viscerally because one took her _mother_ from her. I cannot argue with that. I cannot reason around it. She simply sees all asari as threat, as invader, as outrage.

I can reason with Galen. I can debate him, I can engage him intellectually, I can fence logic with him until he retires in disarray, because at the end of the day, he is a scientist, a historian, an _intellectual_. He values consensus only when it is based on facts and hard truth, but he does not, I believe, lie to himself.

Tiffany Minsta is a spoiled child. She is blessed with high intellectual capacity and an excellent, if… eccentric, education, backstopped with wealth and the privilege only a child of the Lords of Sol could achieve in your species. This blinds her not only to her own limits and failings, but the very idea that anyone not of her social station could provide such a thing.

For all of that, she hates me for illogical, irrational, and frankly immature reasons and it is not possible for me to take her 'in hand' as I did with Ms. Lawson. Miranda is just as spoiled and blind as Tiffany, and hates me for different, if equally illogical, reasons, but she also despises and questions herself. Tiffany does not question herself, she assumes.

She cannot match me intellectually, as I was her better when her ancestors were tenant farmers. She cannot match me martially or physically – she is a child, I am a matriarch and a war priestess. She cannot match me economically – I ran a galaxy-wide shipping concern with hundreds of millions of credits worth of contracts. She cannot even match me socially – her tiny collection of peerage friends is no match for rubbing shoulders with Matriarch T'Armal or being feted by the Palavanus on their own private moon.

She cannot even match my hate for the asari, as she only hates because of what was taken from her by the choice of her mother, not by criminal assassination and the oblivation of the future of millions of clanless.

Teaching her how to become useful to Cerberus is a waste of time, beloved. She will not listen, and my patience does not extend to children too ignorant to heed their betters.

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 **MARS-ZERO-FIVE-EIGHT :: PELLHAM-058**

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 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: PEL**

* * *

You want me to _what_?

 _Bossman_. For serious.

I don't like the doc. Past year and a half ain't changed that. I don't give a fuck how useful his House is or any of that dog and pony shit, the man's a poof. Don't mean that sexual-like, I mean he ain't got the spine for the hard shit.

His little girl? Running in the Dog? Get the fuck outta here. STG catches that bitch they'll split her fucking head wide open like a pack of turians on a shantha. She's not in it because she saw her fucking family get waxed by spikes, she ain't in it because she had to lose everything she had and have her spouse cheat on her, she ain't in it because she had been double-crossed by the Broker and left to die in an icy gravel pit.

She's in it because momma ran off with some blue tits and that pisses her off.

That's not good enough, sir. Due respect and all that shit. Taylor and I had a talk, black man to black man, and he said something I like – he works for you because you ain't full of shit. We know where things lay with each other.

Only reason you need a bird like that in the Dog is you plan on doing something with the Lords, and we had that discussion a while back.

Ain't doing it.

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* * *

No.

Jack, are you drunk?

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 **PLATO-SIX-SIX-FIVE :: LENG-665**

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 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: LENG**

* * *

I was not aware you engaged in practical jokes, sir.

I will put this plainly. I neither have the patience nor nerve for immature young women. If you intend on me 'training' her to be of use, there is a very high chance she will end up with a slit throat.

I do not think it is advantageous to the organization to go down that route at this time.

Although, if this is an occulted request to have her quietly disposed of, I can do that.

* * *

Jack Harper stared quietly at the form of Galen Minsta, watching the man read through various reports on his omni-tool, and dumped the ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray built into the arm of his chair. "As you can see, most of my senior operatives are less than enthused by the concept."

The silvering hair of the doctor bobbed slightly as he nodded, clicking off the omni-tool. "Yes, I can see that." His voice was dry. "Kai Leng, in particular."

The doctor sighed. "She is… not entirely what I would wish. Perhaps with good reason. I was… not always available for Tiffany when she was younger. The loss of Merissa, the collapse of… everything, left me in a poor state. Her aunt – my sister – did what she could, but Chelise was not the sort of influence I should have allowed in her life."

Jack sipped at his drink, frowning as a drop of condensation splattered over his slacks. "Very few people who have had the chance to raise a child can say they did so without mistakes, in judgment or in other matters. That strays from the point I wish to make. Your daughter is talented, I will not deny that. She is skilled in a wide array of fields."

Galen's dark eyes met his own, the good looks blurred by his own glass of Scotch and fatigue. "I know, Mr. Harper. But skills alone are not enough, are they?"

The Illusive Man exhaled. "You never clearly explained why you wished her to join…" He trailed off expectantly, and Minsta gave a sharp bark of laughter.

"I didn't, did I?" The erudite voice turned almost playful, as he sipped his own drink. "I suppose it is a number of things, sir. I know you plan to have Miranda take your place once your various plans – and those of your… of the Matriarch… come to some level of fruition. I believe the organization needs someone who is more flexible than a mere combat operator in place."

Jack arched an eyebrow. "You speak of your own role in my various plans?"

Galen nodded. "Indeed. I am your window into the Lords of Sol. I am a window into the upper crust investment groups, into the intellectual and educational community, into the tight-knit group of diplomatic contacts that bridge Vancouver and 660 Citadel Tower. I am a scientist, I am a historian, I am a medical and biological doctor, I am a…" He paused. " 'Renaissance man' sounds as if I am assigning myself airs. 'Didact' has the taste of someone whose opinion of himself outstrips his ability. 'Polymath' is better applied in clinical terms."

Jack inhaled and blew out smoke. "Your value to me is none of those things, although all of them are undeniably useful. You are a microcosm of how the High Lords, the wealthy, the intellectuals think and perceive the galaxy. You are sure enough in your own way of being correct that I have to stop and examine why you are wrong before I decide that you are indeed wrong… or that, in some cases, my biases are not the same as yours, but are no less crippling." He stubbed out the cigarette. "Tiffany does not seem to offer that level of depth to her thinking or actions."

Galen folded his arms. "I understand entirely, sir. That being said, I think she simply needs more time to deliver on her ability."

Harper shrugged. "Revenant is far too important to assign her to it. I know – having Shepard with a handler in the Lords of Sol would greatly simplify matters. But Shepard is going to be handled… very carefully. We can't afford loose cannons."

The doctor sighed. "Leaving her to the influence of Miranda and Kelly. I'd almost rather Rasa and Brooks run her."

Harper paused before taking a sip of Wild Turkey. It would never do to choke, after all. "That is a rather strong statement to make, doctor."

Galen's folded arms hunched in a bitter shrug. "Miranda is damaged, Mr. Harper. I am not being insulting. But it's clear she's fallen out with Mr. Taylor, who strikes me as the kind of man who does not simply give up unless there is nothing left to achieve. I have already told you Ms. Chambers is a mental case with severe trauma from what she went through and is simply enough of a master-class psychologist to cover it up." He turned to face Harper fully. "If they break, we lose all control over Shepard."

Jack smiled. "I don't think we have control over Shepard in the first place, doctor. Control isn't what I need, anyway. I need cooperation… sympathy… and eventually, fatigue. I want Shepard to get tired of banging her head against the stupidity of the Council and the Systems Alliance and decide I'm the best of a bad lot… and for that, Miranda's vulnerability and Kelly's less than stable nature work perfectly."

He finished his drink. "I've also arraigned, in the proper time, for Shepard to be exposed to a young woman much like her, down to the background and certain, shall we say, deviances in the bedroom. Lonely, stressed, and out of options, Shepard will be emotionally compromised enough that she will listen to me, as long as the framework of her surroundings is … empathetic. Understanding." His smiled thinned. "Flawed and yet compassionate."

Minsta stared at him for long minutes, then nodded. "I… see. Tiffany would be a poor fit for that role."

Harper nodded, pleased internally. He had not expected Minsta to give way so easily. His mind thought on that for a moment, then he smiled. "That being said, she will have a place at the appropriate time. Given some of the reactions Miranda has had recently, and the non-zero chance of some kind of accident or misfortune, your words on a line of succession are taken well into point."

Manicured fingers tapped a control on the chair. "I suggest a different focus. Given the deep cover assignment for Brooks, Rasa is… isolated. She can be paired with your daughter for this operation."

Galen turned to glance at the hovering images on the large viewscreen behind him. "…More file workups on aliens? Why?"

Jack Harper sighed. "The purpose of this gathering of information is a baseline. It is not for one person, but I think having Shepard see things from our perspective will be of great use to us. This also plays to Tiffany's strengths. Vol Space is safe. Elcor Space is safe. The next likely species to be accepted into the Citadel, depending on how fast they advance, are the yahg – hardly safe, but she can't get close to them anyway." He exhaled. "A commendable job here would ameliorate the objections from some parties that she doesn't fit. And then other options can be examined."

Galen nodded sourly. "She won't like this, you know. And I'm not sure I'm comfortable with having her exposed to Rasa."

Harper shrugged. "Rasa is a known factor. She has no objections… and is only dangerous to women with dark hair and dark complexions, neither of which is possessed by Tiffany. Furthermore, I'm thinking they don't need to operate in physical space, only working together remotely. Rasa is an excellent teacher, as far as her arts go."

Minsta shuddered. "God help me, if it came to that I'd rather have the fucking asari do it."

Harper managed to suppress a smile at that. "Vol Prime has a number of fascinating museums and other places of interest. I'll expect at least a status report from her within a month of her arrival there."

The doctor met his gaze again, then nodded curtly. "I'll let her know. She'll be very pleased. Despite her abruptness at times, Mr. Harper, she truly does look up to you."

He exited the Observatorium, and Harper gave a sad smile. "That only proves Trellani's point, my good doctor." With a shake of his head, he tapped his comm-link. "Ezno."

The hard bass voice of his Security Chief answered. _"Yes, sir."_

"Security workup, Tiffany Minsta. I need a pair of solid Centurion teams as cold-wipe backups. I don't need her getting killed out there; she's going into Volus and Elcor Space on fact-finding."

Ezno's voice carried a faint note of amusement. _"I'll have the teams hot in six hours. I'll do a walkthrough of her ship myself. Who is her shadow?"_

Harper kept his voice level. "Rasa."

There was silence on the line, then soft, amused laughter. _"You are a delight to work for, sir. I'll TTL you when I'm done."_

He clicked off and nodded. "Now, let's see if the volus take a nibble."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** My main fic story, **"Of Sheep and Battle Chicken"** (OsaBC) is set in an alternative universe to the 'canon' Mass Effect. My initial intent with the story was to do a 'show, not tell' reinterpretation, similar to, but with a different focus than, **"Renegade Reinterpretations**. **"** It wasn't intended to be a complete rewrite at the beginning, and it has grown faster and more AU than I originally intended._

 _The purpose of this document is to outline the AU world I work in. It is a more renegade place, if that word has any meaning at all, which I doubt. The difference between Paragon and Renegade is that Paragons do things the right way, and Renegades do things any way that achieves what they want. Not all good is nice, and not all bad is evil. But at the end of the day, both Paragons and Renegades end up doing the right thing._

 _The Cerberus Files is a story, written around a series of reports gathered by the leadership of Cerberus during the events of ME1 and parts of ME2. The key actors are:_

 _- **Dr. Galen Minsta** , a brilliant doctor, historian, psychologist, and economic guru_

 _- **Tiffany Minsta** , Galen's talented and snobbish daughter_

 _- **Matriarch Trellani** , an outcast asari matriarch who has joined Cerberus after discovering the truth of Athame, and now plots to eradicate the Thirty_

 _- **General Petrovsky** , much the same as in canon, but with a different focus._

 _- **Pel** , a cruelly dispassionate wet-work operator and assassin for the Illusive Man, who's past is a jagged mess of regrets_

 _- **Kai Leng** , an equally cruel murderer who is more subtle and nuanced than the canon version._

 _- **Prime 302** , a battered survivor network of the geth which is captured by Cerberus_

 _- **Shades-of-Examined-Views** , an Ascension Protocol Level III Collector captured by Cerberus_

* * *

 _This part of this work is a review of the volus, elcor, and yahg._


	2. Chapter 2 : Volus Overview

**A/N:** _Tiffany Minsta is brought to you by_ ** _Jacob_** _,_ _official copilot of this wreck!_

 _I'm dealing with work issues, home issues, back issues… issues issues. I'll try to get the next chapter done on my vacation at the end of March. But I also have the materials for a gingerbread hat._

* * *

 **The Cerberus Files : Secondary Races**

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 **HERA-ONE-SEVEN-FOUR :: TIFFANY-174**

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 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: TIFFANY MINSTA**

Sir,

Very funny, having me complete our entire volus write-up after the 'response' I received on the original Unseen Cloud piece. Very droll. Fine trolling, as Vigil would say. Who knew your most senior operatives could be so sassy?

Ironic that the Dog's kennel is so full of bitches.

I won't deny that some of their critiques are accurate. I am young. I am less experienced than them. I am very wealthy and immensely privileged. I can even be a little snobbish and perhaps a touch elitist. (To be fair, I am _actually_ part of an elite.) I am, however, at least capable of admitting and owning this.

With the exception of Petrovsky – whose directness and insistence on sticking to just the facts really does grow on you – there's an alarming tendency amongst certain senior Cerberus personnel to indulge in some truly self-pitying double standards when it comes to their suffering and the lives of others.

Your asari is a very impressive woman. She's certainly more accomplished than I ever will be. This is obvious. Do you know what else is obvious? Her high society 'friends,' who smiled for the cameras and laughed at her witticisms, were the first to disown her and call for her arrest. Her corporate wealth was confiscated by C-Sec FINCIN. Her physical power couldn't save her bondmate or family. Her intellect couldn't either, and now all of these very impressive traits serve the interests of the only organisation in the galaxy willing to take her in. If bragging about her hundreds of years of achievements to a human woman who has only been able to drive for three is what she needs to do to get by, well, bless her heart. Have at it.

Moving on to the Odd Couple. Now I'll say up front that I admire their skills, their dedication to the cause, and the fact that they've always been professional in sharing their expertise and commentary, but those two are _the_ textbook Cerberus story. Highly talented specialists distinguish themselves early on in a promising career, but oh no, look out, here comes the hurt feelings and emotional trauma (probably at the hands of a shadowy conspiracy) that shatters their psyche, lending them an almost Shakespearean pathos and a deeply insecure contempt for anyone who's even slightly different, because society just can't understand them, and then the Dog scoops them up and puts them to work. End scene. (Shepard did the same thing, and it seems most of the people she's picked up along the way do too. Perhaps dying will shake her free of that.) They can talk and talk about how hard and unfeeling they are, but it rings hollow when it's obvious to everyone on the station that they're both still running from shattered romances and burned personal lives.

I suppose it's easy to tell yourself that you're just a killer who can't feel when those feelings were too much to take.

I'll never understand why people just can't admit that everyone in the Dog is carrying some baggage, and that it isn't some sad pissing contest about who's suffered the deepest and most meaningful tragedies – it's about advancing our species. That is the singular purpose of our strange, dysfunctional band of misfits. Nothing else matters.

Humanity invicta, now and forever.

Now then, moving on to the volus. After all, that's why we're here.

There are a handful of core concepts that have defined volus nature and society since before such a thing even existed: the moral necessity of work and positive value extraction, reciprocal duty to one's clan and clannu, and the many Paths of Plenix. The desire to seek the bounty of life, and the capacity to do so, form the overarching framework that surrounds all of these things. I'll be expanding greatly upon these topics in the psychology section, but suffice to say here that the volus mind is a surprisingly rich and utterly alien landscape, and that volus society and culture are nowhere near as ludicrously one-dimensional as human media tends to present them.

As I discussed earlier in the Unseen Cloud document, the volus aren't _necessarily_ doomed to be our enemies. Yes, they can certainly be dangerous under the right circumstances, and their interests and values do not always align with our interests and values, but there are plenty of areas where can find some kind of mutually beneficial arrangement. Indeed, I stand by my recommendation that Cerberus – and, more broadly, humanity as a whole – attempt to find more areas of common ground with the Vol Protectorate. If anything, it would be worth it simply to have a more reliable friend on the Citadel and an incredibly dynamic trading partner that would act as a useful foil for salarian and asari socioeconomic intrigue.

For your pleasure, sir, I've included a few introductory notes on each sub-topic covered by this report, mostly covering articles and insights that didn't quite fit into each section itself.

 **Cerberus Message of the Day:** _Caution is a virtue one cannot have too much of, and often a lack of it leads to poor results. Better to be safe than to be sorry._

* * *

 **Volus Psychology**

Volus are, of course, alien and so do not view the universe in the same way that humans do. As I've mentioned before, volus see markets as an expression of existence where activity, matter, energy, and emotion all interact together to generate profit. 'Profit' is the most commonly used translation, but the most accurate would be 'the bounty of life.' It may seem like I'm just arguing semantics here, but what appears to be a simple alternative translation is actually a perfect indication of just how radically different volus psychology is when compared to humans.

Humans define and measure freedom by our capacity to exercise our free will and liberties; volus define freedom solely by their capacity to seek the bounty of life on a sliding spectrum of individual to clan. We value freedom of speech for its own sake, but a volus simply would not care about any theoretical expression of speech if he could not, for example, use that speech to further benefit his family, clan, or business. (Ironic, considering how much volus love to talk.)

A human may cherish her right to vote for the President of the Systems Alliance, whereas a volus would be indifferent unless her clan or combine had a clear interest in said vote. They certainly don't consider free will to be a burden – it's essential to their conception of commerce and voluntary associations – but they do perceive it as merely being the first step in an extended value chain, greater than the sum of its parts and where each step builds upon the last.

A salarian values the pursuit of knowledge because knowledge is the ultimate currency and source of power within salarian culture, whereas volus see knowledge as a market-specific commodity driven by supply and demand. Elcor value stability because the vast majority of their Lifemaster philosophies emphasise the role of a steady, focused state of being in allowing for greater insight and decision-making capacity, whereas volus see all steady states as ultimately temporary equilibriums that must yield at some point to overwhelming supply or demand. _(Addendum: 'Supply' and 'demand' are literal and rather accurate translations, but readers should note that, unlike the human idiom, these terms can easily be metaphorical or even metaphysical in the volus language. It rather depends on the situational context, the subject at hand, and the oratorical and behavioural style of the speaker. -Tiffany)_

Specific markets, as well as any interaction within these markets, are simply a downstream manifestation of this worldview. Incidentally, this is why volus find the human study of economics and business so frustrating. They clearly see our individual potential as traders, suppliers, and customers, but find our society's overall attitude towards these things to be unbelievably naïve and narrow-minded, almost reactionary. Volus value their capacity to act, to achieve their goals, and to carry out their duties. They do not even slightly care for any abstract justification or flowery intellectual treatise if you do nothing of value with it. This is why the Vol Protectorate and the Vol Court of Corporations react with the same ferocity to excessive taxation and regulation as they do to pirate raids and terrorist attacks – they see all of these actions in essentially the same light, as an assault on the capacity of volus to seek whatever bounty they choose. You have no right and no claim to take their lives – why should the same apply to the works they dedicate their lives to?

* * *

 **Volus Society**

One of the most common and unforgivably lazy stereotypes of volus society in Human Space is that it's some kind of anarcho-capitalist utopia, or dystopia, depending on your political leanings. This is of course untrue, and I'd like to take this opportunity to remind readers not to fall prey to such logical fallacies as anthropocentric projection and so on. It isn't surprising that this belief is so common amongst humans. Blue Stars No More and Terra Firma used to incorporate it into every stump speech before the Unseen Cloud slapped the shit out of most of their financial backers. _(Addendum: Whilst I have no love for the alien, if anyone deserves the full NESSUM treatment it's Saracino and his bourgeois political backers. -Tiffany)_

My theory is that this narrative is so popular and effective because it plays to two classic tropes that are omnipresent in human culture: that of the alien 'Other' out to ravage our way of life/steal our women and jobs/degrade our glorious civilisation, and the socioeconomic class tension that is inherent in human society due to the fundamental inequalities present in human nature. Literal aliens – volus in this case – are thus a perfect target for a combination of all the baser instincts, prejudices, and outright demagoguery that humanity has to offer. Perhaps this seems absurd and hypocritical coming from a lead researcher for an avowedly human supremacist organisation. I don't think it is. I don't hate all aliens, and I certainly don't hate aliens simply for being alien, nor do I think that every human is somehow wonderful. I hate certain aliens and alien organisations for _what they have done_ to our species and for what _they continue to do_. I hate some humans for the same reasons. Why is this so difficult for people to understand? Our ultimate goal is to better humanity, and anyone – human or alien – who stands in the way of such is at best an obstacle and at worst an enemy who needs to be dealt with as such.

As I was saying, volus society is far more nuanced and complex than most casual observers give it credit. It is a world where the kindest charity and most rapacious acquisitions are executed on the same day, perhaps even by the same person. A world where goods, services, ideas, concepts, land, space, and even people are traded with a frequency that staggers the mind. A world where dreams are made and crushed overnight. A world that is governed by principles that haven't changed at all for thousands of years, but yet where every single day is different and somehow built upon what came before it. A world where nothing is true but everything is possible.

I apologise if I'm beginning to wax lyrical, sir, but of all aliens I feel we – humanity – could stand to gain most by learning from the volus. They could, perhaps, make fine allies – but that, of course, is more your purview than mine.

* * *

 **Volus Economy**

" _Cash rules everything around me_ " is literally a volus proverb. I don't mean this in the sense of it being considered common wisdom. I mean it in the sense that it is inscribed in stone in their holy book, the Book of Plenix. But let's consider what this really means in a little more detail, shall we?

Everyone knows that the volus economy is unmatched in Citadel Space on a per capita basis, and is second only to the asari in absolute terms. Most observers, with their trite _bien pensant_ opinions and second-class university degrees, focus far too much on the raw economic output and per capita metrics and in doing so, they miss what makes the volus economy so remarkable: its sheer vitality, its ability to adapt, and its ability to survive catastrophes that would leave any other species reeling. It can be quite beautiful to watch in the abstract, like a dramatic play that reinvents itself each night or an improvised comedy that begins and ends in ways no one expected. Volus can invent, nurture, and exploit entire markets that never existed until they entered the room. They can shape and lead existing markets in ways that no alien had tried or even thought of, and they can take an idea, product, a concept, or even a state of being that others thought tired and empty and use it to change the galaxy.

Omni-tools. Aircars. Kinetic barriers. Bi-chiral foodpaks. Anti-matter torpedoes. Missile packs. Micro-fabrication and personal omni-foundries. Haptic streaming. FTL comm buoys. Intra-galactic communications and logistics. Want to know what all of these things have in common? No, volus didn't invent all of them – though they certainly had a hand in a few – but volus venture capitalists, socio-cultural pattern recognition specialists, inter-alien law firms, and marketing and logistics companies were _behind every single one_. Volus were critical in getting all of these goods and services to market. It's no exaggeration to say that in many ways volus really have built most of the modern galaxy.

It's obvious that aliens as a whole possess far superior weapons technology (and optronics, and computational devices, and propulsion, and so on) compared to humanity, but why does no one ever state the obvious? Why does no one connect the dots and wonder if that same prowess extends to cultural and socio-economic vectors? Why does no one outside of Cerberus see this for the grave threat that it is? Why does no one simply admit that in the sphere of business, trade, and commerce, humanity is bashing two rocks together whilst a volus executive watches us from his orbital station and shakes his head?

I keep saying that economics is a weapon, and no one believes me. I fear no one will until it's too late.

* * *

 **Volus Military**

Do not underestimate the Vol Protectorate's military branch. The Vol Defence Force is no match for the superpowers of the galaxy, true, and there are a number of tactical and strategic scenarios that volus certainly aren't suited to, but under the right circumstances the volus, like the elcor, can savage any attacker foolish enough to underestimate them.

VDF logistics are the finest in the galaxy, exceeding even that of the batarians, and more people should pay attention to this. As they say, amateurs study tactics and professionals study logistics. Plan on fighting a volus fleet? Every single logistical and managerial aspect of that fleet is superior to yours. Their alloys are purer. Their electronic components are cherry-picked from the finest samples on the fabrication wafer. Their optronics are sourced directly from Thessia, with a smile. Their eezo consumption is lower than yours. Their missiles are cheaper and more reliable and come with free shipping and limited liability transit insurance on selected Citadel trade lanes, check with your nearest dealer. Their fuel stores will not be depleted, they have plenty of food and water, and they will never, _ever_ run out of ammunition. Every single volus on board that ship has been raised from birth and exquisitely trained by an organisation that considers itself the guardian of all vol life and also has access to effectively unlimited resources.

Still not convinced? Compare that to the human fleets that are stuffed with lazy and corrupt supply clerks, with dreadnoughts that are only combat ready half the goddamn time due to eezo and personnel shortages. Or the gleaming ranks of the asari, made up of burned-out matrons sidelined and laughed at within their own society as an archaic afterthought. The vaunted turian fleets are overburdened and charged with the Sisyphean task of policing a schizophrenic culture that requires a continuous state of low-key civil war just to manage social stress and disharmony.

Salarians are devilishly clever, true, but are so smug and insular that they dismiss anyone but the asari as inferior savages and spend their time on inefficient paranoia and endless experiments to nowhere.

Elcor are too baked to care, batarians obsessed with their insufferable dick-waving, and the krogan don't have any fleets to compare with. I will admit that the drell and hanar fleets are an exception to this, but that is due more to their bizarre and frankly unnatural societal organisation. There is something uncanny and wrong within Hanar Space, as if all of their social systems are being directed as part of some deranged video game.

A common refrain amongst Alliance naval officers is that volus strategy and tactics can be summed up with 'press "A" to spam missiles.' Whilst droll – and often accurate – it ignores the entire body of theoretical work that the VDF has devoted the last several decades to, and furthermore disregards a number of military science innovations that volus have introduced (including ones adopted by the SA itself). As General Petrovsky said: "In the wilderness, you fear the wolves, and you tend to dismiss the elk until the day you're gored by its antlers."

Volus approach war with the same clinical disdain and ruthless drive with which they approach a hostile takeover. Dismiss this at your peril.

* * *

 **Conclusion**

I want to make one thing very clear: there is a yawning gulf between the alien nature of the volus (or even the elcor or yahg) and the alien nature of the turians, asari, and salarians (let's throw the batarians in there too). To a human, all of these creatures are at once fascinating and horrifying, strange and familiar, knowable and unknowable – but the volus are not fundamentally _sick_ in the way that the other Citadel species all too often are.

That's not to say that they aren't very strange at first. They really are, far more so than the more familiar Citadel races. The volus mind giggles in the face of human psychological theories, their physiology is a shotgun wedding between evolution and total bullshit, and their society itself is simply unworkable by anyone but them. And yet what they have, to me at least, is something less cruel and abusive than their sneering peers on the Citadel, something that can truly be said to be a net positive to galactic life. I'm not saying that they don't do things that we'd find immoral or objectionable – of course they do, and Cerberus must always assume that the alien is a potential threat – but compare them to the rest of our threat matrix.

Unlike the turians, the volus are not a militarised statist monolith, lashed together with a thought control program they call 'honour,' and trapped in a state of perpetual civil war just to relieve the social pressure resulting from their civilisation's inherent contradictions. Unlike the salarians, the volus are not willingly divorced from the consequences of their actions, haven't used solipsistic logic to justify the death of morality, and aren't trapped in a mad quest for knowledge and genetic supremacy at the cost of everything else that makes up a culture. Unlike the asari, the volus do not claim to be some pinnacle of sapient life, do not keep whole swathes of their population trapped in caste system designed solely for the benefit of the few at the top, and do not use their religion or physiology to justify the subversion of every other society and culture in known space.

My point? Our species can _benefit_ from working with the volus in ways that simply aren't possible with the others. Coexistence is possible with Irune, and indeed may be something they'd prefer.

We cannot afford to waste this opportunity, given what we know is coming.

-Dr Tiffany Minsta

* * *

 **Message Header: HELNET BEGIN ENCRYPTION STRING**

 **NEGOTIATING ARBITRAGE HEADERS…CLEAR**

 **SYSFILL 8851241-SUB-TWO:** _Cross check complete_

 **SUCCUBUS-THREE-THREE :: RASA-33**

 **CREATING HANDSHAKE…ACKNOWLEDGMENT HANDSHAKE ACCEPTED**

 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: RASA**

Mr. Harper,

As requested, I have been shadowing Dr. Minsta's daughter since her arrival in Volus Space. Her pinnace, a rather luxurious racing model favored by adventurous sorts in the nobility, is docked at the Croso Trade Lane Station as she preps for entry.

I believe I am to meet up with her and the backstop security team once she reaches Vol Prime tomorrow. It will be amusing to meet her in-person for the first time. God only knows what the good doctor has told her of me.

I will withhold comment on her amusingly childishly reaction to the comments of others. (Or the fact that most of the reactions of others were childish, for that matter.)

I would not say she does not have a point… merely that she misses the point of why others react as they do. Cerberus was not established to forward humanity. It was founded by your personal agony and losses. It was founded by the ugly and brutal rape and murder of General Petrovsky's daughter. It was founded in the cruel and needless butchery of General Florez's niece (not to mention what happened to her daughter), of the obliteration of the lives and dreams of hundreds of thousands.

It was founded in pain and loss and self-pity. She will learn this, sadly, if she joins us fully. Then again, so did Brooks. So did young Miranda.

So did I. No matter.

Professionally, from a dispassionate operative's viewpoint, she is a disappointment. She is travelling alone. She does not have any personal weaponry aside from a hunting rifle, probably stowed in her baggage and out of reach, and a disruptor gauntlet that would require her to engage in melee combat. Given that she stands at just under one hundred sixty centimeters, that strikes me as… somewhat poor judgement.

She indulges in too much alcohol (like her father) and is not the best pilot I have seen (again, the apple not falling far from the tree – he good doctor once had a jump drift of damn near eight thousand miles). She has been on the station for a little over seven hours and has not yet detected me shadowing her.

There are positives, however. She does demonstrate excellent comms security and her laser-link and all comms pickups are turned off when not in use. She clearly communicates, does not let her distaste for aliens color her ability to see their strengths, and can clearly grasp historical, cultural, financial, economic, and military trends and specifics. She does not waste time on justifications and has a surprisingly open mind when it comes to ramifications.

My recommendations are as follows.

First, I would state that this is… not exactly the kind of thing we should be putting a fresh analyst on, sir. One does not start carving on expensive stone without practice. An intern in the medical field is mostly given grunt work and observation tasks long before they touch a patient. While I do grasp her sponsor is not interested in having his daughter do low-level work due to her station, I would also point out that beginners make mistakes.

Then again, I suppose that is why I am here.

Second, if we are going to do this, her primary use should be in the field of non-military investigation and analysis. While she can cover such topics, applique will not be her strength. She hasn't ever been in the military, and in any case, neither the volus nor the elcor military are conventional, and breaking them down should be left to experts. Brooks can do that, as she will have no issues dealing with Tiffany's… shall we say scrap grace attempts at interactions.

(As an aside, Brooks is likely to attempt something appalling if the girl is too open. Should I give instructions that seduction is not allowed?)

Third, all of her focus should be placed as much as possible on direct interaction, never on infiltration. This is not solely due to her inexperience, but her attitude. Above all else, an infiltrator should be both empathetic and approachable, and she is neither. Her strengths would be most useful paired with an _experienced_ infiltrator, to analyze and interpret the take of someone less skilled in such things – and not in an oversight role.

Finally, I would go on record in disagreeing with the decision not to assign her to Revenant. Her lack of field experience here is a negative. There it would be a safe learning environment. But there is more to it than that.

I have already made my arguments about your heir and the psychologist cretin. Not only do they despise each other on some levels, but neither of them has the sheer willpower or arrogance to deny Shepard anything (if this lunatic project succeeds, of course).

Tiffany is immature, sheltered, and too absorbed with herself to feel (much less care) about the pain of others. As a handler she would indeed be in a great deal of friction with someone like Shepard. At the same time, by her very nature, Tiffany is utterly honest.

She cannot disassemble and sneers at the very concept of intrigue as beneath her. Shepard would be able to see that. I have warned you – repeatedly – that neither Lawson nor Chambers can be honest with themselves and that both could have breakdowns at the worst of times. Tiffany would not. Shepard would hate the girl, but also respect her refusal to lie or dissemble.

For now, I will observe. Once she arrives at Vol Prime, I will take one backstop security team and accompany her. The other will remain aboard my own low-visibility tramp freighter. As a precaution, I have purchased a pair of light, matched, rapid-fire SMGs and will make the attempt to train her in self-defense, for my own amusement if nothing else.

Doctor Minsta's raising of this girl-child is execrable. (Please try to restrain your laughter at this coming from me, of all people. I have never held myself up as sane… or a saint.) But he has done an excellent job in giving her a first-rate education and we should make use of that.

I will be cruelly dismissive of her own pain involving her mother, and then hurl back her own words at her when she reacts to such. That should open her eyes to the fact that pain is not something you dismiss but use as a tool.

I will await your instructions, Mr. Harper. As an aside, sharing the criticisms of others with her and her father was a nice touch, but I do not suggest you share my own. I will do that in my own way.


	3. Chapter 3 : Volus History

**Jacob's Note:** _Tiffany Minsta is brought to you, as always, by me… with some fierce editing by_ _ **SLotH4**_ _. Accept no lesser sloths in your life._

* * *

 **The Cerberus Files : Secondary Races**

* * *

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 **HERA-ONE-SEVEN-FOUR: TIFFANY-174**

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 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: TIFFANY MINSTA**

* * *

Sir,

I'll keep this introduction as brief as possible, since we have a fair amount of ground to cover. I'm in position on the Vol Prime station; our situation is secure and fine for now, though Operative Ehud is convinced we're being surveilled by at least two parties, only one of which we can confirm is volus. It's only a matter of time until they make contact – most likely by trying to compromise our comms or omni-tools, but we're expecting that and are prepared for it. As an aside, I'm very… curious to meet my colleague for this operation.

Even more curious is the fact that you never mentioned which operative you're assigning to me.

Regardless, I've spent the last two days in deep conversation with several volus academics here in the Archive of All Under Heaven. Volus history is remarkable and rather refreshing to most historians. Whilst the wobblies have their fair share of intrigues and mysteries, eras of stagnation and blossoming, grand figures and forgotten masses, they lack so much of the brutality, cynicism, and third-party manipulation that typifies the history of most other Citadel races.

 _(Addendum: eyes only: Matriarch Trellani: There was also a single asari here in the Archive with the markings of Clan Moondance. How strange. I thought you might like to know. -Tiffany)_

This is not to say they didn't experience disagreement, conflict, or even mass atrocities. They did. What's remarkable, though, is that each of these were expressed in a fundamentally unique and distinctly wobbly way. The darkest figure in all of volus history was a metaphysicist, an intellectual rebel, and (in volus eyes) a sick apostate… yet, aside from publishing a book, they didn't actually commit any crimes or even hurt anyone, as we would see it.

Compare that to the industrial-scale horror of almost every other Citadel race and you'd be forgiven for thinking the volus to be a more evolved form of life.

I'll be starting this report by covering a few odds and ends that, whilst certainly key factors in the historical development of the volus species, don't quite fit neatly on a chronological chart.

* * *

 **A Few Notes on Irune**

Irune is a weird place.

Science confirms this, and this vignette should really be titled: 'Why Ammonia-Based Life is Total Bullshit.'

I'll be saving the details for the section on volus physiology, but I feel a brief overview would provide some much-needed context for the volus's peculiar development as a species.

Don't ever forget that Irune is staggeringly dangerous. This is true for most lifeforms on the planet, but it applies ten-fold for visitors. I'm serious – the only reason the visitor mortality figures are so damn low is because the crafty wobblies decided to include visitors to the Vol Prime space station and the _entire Aru System_ in their statistical model, and they only did that so they could lower insurance payouts. Once you strip those out and cover only the aliens who actually step foot on Irune itself, well, then the mortality rate skyrockets up to roughly on par with Tuchanka. _(Addendum: Volus travel agents are understandably coy about this, and try to gloss over the reports of people dissolving in metallic acid clouds, exploding in atmospheric pressure sinks, drowning in chemical dust bowls, erupting in cancers from the uranium flats, or just being eaten by terrifying monsters. Volus travel agents are the real monsters. -Tiffany)_

Irune is roughly twice the radius of Earth and four times the mass, with a sea-level gravity of one point five g's, an average sea-level temperature of nine degrees Celsius, and an astounding atmospheric pressure of sixty point five six atmospheres. It's actually quite beautiful from orbit; the ammonia seas range from a pure blue to a rich bronze, the result of dissolved alkaline metals. Vast storm formations, each a swirl of harsh yellows, oranges, reds, and greenish-bronze, crackle with electricity. The vegetation is mostly dark, ranging from navy-blue to emerald-green to deep purple to gunmetal to charcoal to jet-black, with a few splashes of colour here and there. On that note, bright colours are generally a communicative device for the flora and fauna of Irune, rather like the poison dart frogs or peacocks of Earth, and what they communicate is normally bad news: either the organism is de facto dangerous in its own right, or it has nothing to fear from those who are dangerous, which in a way makes it the most dangerous one of all.

Irune may look like a hellworld, but it's teeming with life.

Said life is almost entirely ammonia-based but there are some exceptions to the rules, and the planet features an incredible array of specialised organisms and niche ecosystems – more so than Earth, in fact. (There's even a few very basic strains of silicon and methane-based life in a handful of micro-ecosystems near Irune's poles, mostly plants and extremophiles.) Its geography varies just as much, and these factors greatly influenced the volus's early development – most notably their clan structures, semi-nomadic livelihoods, and primitive trade culture.

* * *

 **A Few Notes on Volus Gender Dynamics**

To human eyes, volus display a remarkable lack of sexual dimorphism. Physically there are obvious differences, but these are not what you might expect. (Well, mostly.) Volus males have much greater stamina, for instance. Volus females have much less overall muscle mass, yes, but their muscles are far better suited to explosive bursts of power and they tend to have better reflexes and quicker recovery periods. A healthy (and well-fed) volus male can maintain a brisk walk for twenty hours, but a healthy female can accelerate twice as quickly and hit both harder and faster for a short period of time. Volus women also tend to have volcanic tempers and are actually more likely to be violent in daily life than males – rather like turian women, which is yet another reason why they get along.

Why am I mentioning this in the history section, instead of physiology? Well, volus gender relations have, in fact, shaped their history. Social and cultural differences between volus sexes are subtle to outsiders and glaringly obvious to volus themselves, to the point that they are confused as to why aliens are ever confused.

I'll keep this brief, or this will turn into the krogan history section and we'll never be free of it.

Volus gender norms are at once perfectly equal _and_ radically segregated. The volus 'clannu,' or extended family unit, is a joint venture (literally seen as the greatest investment a couple can make) that sees both partners switching between various different roles at different stages within the relationship. Both genders participate equally in raising children up until roughly the starting equivalent of the volus teens, whereupon they are paired with their same-sex parent until they reach physical adulthood, when it goes back to co-parenting.

This is not to say that volus parents won't have any contact with their opposite-sex children during these times – obviously they do – but for certain activities that volus view as critical to their child's gender-related development, they are paired with a same-sex parent. A good example would be a mother teaching her daughter how to deal with basic clan politics and legal relations, whilst a father might teach his son how to act as part of a trade caravan. For such basic things as cooking, socialising, education, and self-defence, for instance, volus children are raised equally and are fully integrated into family and clan life.

Official volus intra-clan life is entirely matriarchal. There are no exceptions to this. There have _never_ , in _all of volus recorded history_ , been exceptions to this. Each clan will have their own exact method of deciding which woman is appointed ' _shoshun_ ' – that is to say, the final arbiter of all the clan's socio-political affairs and its official representative of such to other clans. _(Addendum: It's from an old and rather showy dialect, and literally means "sky-borne mistress of the floating lands." -Tiffany)_

And yet, unofficial matters are entirely casual and gender-fluid.

Official _inter_ -clan life is _de facto_ male-dominated but _de jure_ gender-neutral. Throughout almost all of early volus history, the vast majority of trade caravans travelling between various settlements – particularly on the plains – were mostly operated by volus men, and to this day, males tend to favour nomadic endeavours whilst females prefer to invest more substantially in fixed assets and locales. Most volus traders on interplanetary space lanes, and planets such as Ilium or Noveria, are men, and yet a majority of volus who actually live in these places (and on the Citadel for that matter) are women.

Volus employment relations – there's a phrase I never thought I'd be writing – are almost entirely equal and meritocratic with very little friction; indeed, almost all jobs and positions are open to almost anyone who is deemed qualified through skill or experience.

Unlike almost every other bi-gendered species, volus attach literally no stigma whatsoever to women serving in the military or in any offensive or defensive capacity of any kind. The VDF is actually fifty-two per cent female overall, ranging from eighty-six per cent female in their Biotic Investment Directorate to eight per cent female in the Vorcha Liaison Commander Programme. _(Addendum: You really, REALLY don't want to bump into the kind of woman who makes it as a VDF vorcha assault leader, unless you have some weird fetish for pyromania, auto-rotary shotguns, and eating your targets once the fire is over. -Tiffany)_

Even in civilian life, what rare violence exists in volus society is carried out roughly fifty-fifty by wobbly men and women – and I'm talking about even extremely sick crimes like murder, rape, abuse, terrorism, organised criminality, and so on.

There are clear roles and rituals in much of volus society, but sexism, as we see and experience it, simply doesn't exist for them. Keep this in mind since, as you'll see later on, this has subtly shaped their historical development.

* * *

 **A Few Notes on Clan Development**

Again, why talk about this in the history section when I discuss it in so much more detail later on? Well, like with volus gender dynamics, the development of volus clans as both social unit and social structure are critical in the development of their species. So, rather than clutter up the entire report with constant asides, I'm covering it here for the sake of readability.

Unlike human clans, volus clans are not defined by shared ethnicity. Whilst there _are_ a few minor cosmetic differences in some of the more isolated volus groupings, even in their pre-Stone Age times they viewed such things as utterly trivial, to the point where even noticing them, let alone assigning great value to such characteristics, would _literally_ be considered insane. Volus do not have a word for 'race' and have no concept of racism; to this day, when talking to humans, drell, or other such species shaped all too much by race, they use a turian loanword referring to different plate-colourings, along with subtle tonal differences and a not-at-all-subtle prefix indicating contempt for alien barbarism. Kinship still means a great deal to them, though, and even to this day, almost all volus are as committed to their families as any salarian. Don't think for a moment that this means that volus won't happily exploit the racism of other species for profit. They do, and they think it's both pathetic and funny. Most would happily tell you that to NOT do so would not only be stupid and wasteful, but quite possibly blasphemous. _(Addendum: It's not uncommon, however, for some volus to discriminate based on species, particularly with species that have a history of clashing with volus. This tends to apply to either very sheltered and untravelled volus, or the more jaded and bitter ones who have seen and suffered a great deal of the galaxy. -Tiffany)_

Overall, there are a handful of key points to remember:

A volus clan is generally a steady social grouping made up of various volus who see common characteristics and a common purpose between them. These characteristics are generally philosophical, whilst the purpose is generally socioeconomic.

The clan was originally, in early volus history, a social unit forced to develop out of necessity as a response to survival requirements within the distinct environments present on Irune.

It is the most common and influential expression of their intensely social nature, at once astoundingly competitive _and_ cooperative. Both of these concepts are intertwined in the volus mind.

There will be a great deal of related volus within a clan, and most clans are often dominated by a relatively small number of clannu. At the highest levels of volus society, the post powerful clannu are basically a clan in their own right. (Think of the Cal, Von, and Kwanu clans, for instance.)

That said, there are plenty of distantly or entirely unrelated volus in the average clan, almost always making up a significant (greater than twenty per cent) minority, or even an absolute majority, and almost all clans are committed to meritocratic principles. Volus tend to view merit as an expression of moral action in and of itself.

Clan behaviour and customs exist along a spectrum. Some, such as those from the mountainous regions, the inland lakes and seas, the oxygen deserts and the uranium flats, the floating land formations, the Sunken Realms and the Caverns, and, of course, the Depths are all much more distinct and insular than, say, the exceptionally open and gregarious plains volus. Even in modern times this still applies. Their environments shaped their survival needs, their needs shaped their choices, and their choices shaped the culture (and, indeed, their future).

As volus society developed, becoming more and more advanced and finally expanding beyond Irune, the nature of clans changed, and they became more fluid – much like how modern clans work in other galactic species – but they still shape volus life and culture.

* * *

 **The First Volus**

The volus's evolutionary ancestor, based on fossil records as well as a handful of extremely rare specimens (ranging from fifty thousand to two hundred fifty thousand years old) preserved in freakishly ideal conditions, was a highly social omnivore that lived a semi-nomadic existence in the plains regions that follow most of the Irunian equator, at least on the main continents. These proto-volus slowly spread out from the original plains regions; first into similar locations nearby, but as the millennia passed they moved into more and more far-flung, isolated, and/or specialised environments. Quite a few of these were cut off from the main population over time, whether as the result of climate change, tectonic drift, floods, earthquakes and avalanches, or simply because travel was too difficult and too dangerous with the technology and resources available at the time.

As a rather fascinating aside, some of these isolated pockets remained undiscovered and out of contact with most of volus civilisation for tens of thousands of years, with a handful remaining until well into 'The Golden Year' (the human developmental equivalent of an entire advanced city-state or county remaining undiscovered until, say, the 1950s!). Unlike humans, however, the volus did not try and conquer or otherwise subjugate their social or technological inferiors – for want of a more polite phrase, forgive me – and both parties welcomed each other as long-lost family members, throwing great feasts and parties, commissioning music and artistic performances, and immediately engaging in the holy task of free trade.

 _(Addendum: eyes only: Galen Minsta: Do you ever, in your anthropological studies, come across something so beautiful amidst so much ugliness that it somehow seems even more beautiful because of that? Yes, the alien has inflicted cruelty and dismissal upon us, but in my darker moments – when I've finished most of a bottle of icewine, alone in alien space, for instance – I do wonder: the volus know nothing of genocide, tyranny, imperialism, slavery, war crimes, racism, sexism, self-inflicted wounds like Ardiente, nothing… not even a noble class like ours, for that matter. Whether by nature or by choice, they never destroyed themselves like we did. -Tiffany)_

It might seem peculiar that the volus first evolved in a geographic environment defined by tightly clustered mountain/valley formations in the midst of vast plains – typically surrounded by extremely strange and often hostile specialised local ecosystems – given that there are other regions of Irune that boast richer natural resources, more fertile land, and easier access to fresh water. _(Addendum: Well, the Irune equivalent to fresh water, at any rate. Don't drink it, human readers. You'd have a better chance of survival if you necked a pint of turps. -Tiffany)_

For most species, this would be a strong incentive to develop somewhere else, but it is the peculiar physical and psychological nature of the volus, combined with the extreme ecological variations of the Irune biosphere, that means that such locations are actually ideal. Most predators on Irune are fearsome, but they typically rely on ambush tactics or rapid attacks to subdue prey, in order to conserve energy and maximise their potential opportunities to feed. The plains regions, however, are fairly open and deny predators the camouflage and concealed approach needed to achieve a high kill rate.

This is not to say that such predators _won't_ hunt in the plains, and there are quite a few mid-tier omnivores that do so, but the hypercarnivorous apex predators generally don't, and it's certainly safer than most other biomes on the planet. Likewise, the gentler, more rolling mountain and valley formations that crisscross the plains regions are (oddly enough, given Irunian flora and fauna) much easier to fortify and develop compared to alternative sites. Combined, these geographic features offer excellent access to continent-spanning trade routes and niche ecosystems that would otherwise be much harder to communicate with. Volus culture is clan-based, social, and extraordinarily commercial, so such locations are an ideal fit.

Note that there are, of course, exceptions to almost every firm rule discussed throughout this report – I'm afraid that cultural anthropology is a messy subject, and the evolutionary development of an entire biosphere is even more so. Point being, if you _do_ decide to go wandering the plains of central Irune today, thinking you're perfectly safe and then find yourself being eaten by a migratory flock of nessum, don't blame me. I'll be curled up and sipping my icewine in the Grand Salon of Vol Prime, having not made any dumbass assumptions about local travel conditions.

* * *

 **Proto-Volus Civilisation**

The first volus did not fit neatly into anthropological development norms. The volus consider their early developmental era to be approximately eight to fifteen thousand years ago, and in human terms, it covers aspects of several different ages, ranging from Neolithic to Classical to, in some ways, the Enlightenment and even the Modern Era!

Again, such is the nature of alien life. Perhaps an example or two will help illustrate this?

Consider the early seminomadic volus settlements. These groups of roughly a hundred fifty to nine hundred-plus volus would occupy a small region, perhaps the size of a county, with several dozen other groups, roughly up to the resource-bearing capacity of the land, and are the primal ancestor of modern volus clans. Some would be much more nomadic than others, but each would have half a dozen or so exclusive locations which they would settle in for a few months at time before moving on to the next. (Note that this schedule was typically dependent on social and environmental factors, such as predator attacks, natural disasters, politics, and so on.)

Sounds like typical hunter-gatherers, no? Wrong. Even then these groups displayed an extraordinary competitiveness, both within the clan and with other clans, but _not once in recorded history_ did they ever engage in direct violence. They may have (rarely) sabotaged the others' equipment, refused to cooperate or trade with them, or even baited rival trails to attract predators, but they did not stage raids or openly delight in killing one another as early humans did. Based on recovered stone record-keeping tablets – and the fact that they kept any at all is, in itself, remarkable – the violent crimes rate then was _even_ _lower_ than it is today, and right now it's on par with the fancier parts of modern Vancouver.

Consider also that this primitive proto-volus society was, in some ways, frighteningly advanced. Human actor-network theory analysis, using neural learning simulations based upon the best available volus data, indicate that early volus social dynamics within and between clans demonstrated a degree of material-semiotic function roughly on par with the societies of the human Information Age. Their technologies were nowhere near as advanced, nor were their societies as complex, but the sheer adaptability of their primitive social networks was nothing short of astounding. These primitive tribesmen (tribewobblies?) could mathematically describe the most efficient trade route to the next clan. They were aware of their impact on the natural world, and of that world's impact on them, and developed a basic rotating model of sustainable land management.

They were, in a word, remarkable.

* * *

 **To the Plains and Valleys**

Even in this primitive era of civilisation, volus society was staggeringly advanced in the fields of commerce, trade, industrial development, agriculture, and the use of currency instruments, much like how early salarians displayed an aptitude for applied research and technological development. The earliest surviving artefact of the volus Stone Age is a clay tablet detailing a publicly traded insurance contract for privately-supplied fire-fighting services in a hamlet just outside the largest plains clan settlement at the time. _(Addendum: The second oldest Stone Age artefact is a civil lawsuit, in a private clan court no less, accusing said service provider of deliberately setting fires in the plains outside the hamlet in order to justify doubling the premiums he charged his clients. He was found guilty, and sentenced to farming. -Tiffany)_

Almost all technological developments during this time were spurred by the twin motives of clan social dynamics and the overwhelming volus need to extract maximum value from their environments. Primitive mechanical contraptions, like pulleys, screws, and wheels, were pioneered because they facilitated clan travel and increased the productivity of labour. Advanced forging and metallurgy techniques were necessary in order to mint purer coins and massively increase the market value and utility of metal products; their value in providing superior arrowheads to fend off predators was considered useful but secondary, merely another component in the value chain. Hospitality rituals developed because they could be mathematically proven to facilitate smooth social relations and thus lead to compounding returns of fun and laughter.

Again, Irune is weird, and volus are weirder.

One of the more fascinating aspects of clan sociology is also present at this stage: leadership roles that are auto-assigned from a preselected pool of candidates based on a heuristic set of environmental and/or social conditions becoming true, and being reversed upon those conditions proving false. This phenomenon is most common in the more developed plains settlements, but can also be seen in hamlets exposed to niche ecosystems or game trails that attract predators. For example, if a peacetime disruption of trade routes sparks a credit crunch then the ' _pashii_ ,' or lead trade envoy (literally "the delightful one"), is automatically given complete clan authority over all matters or resources required to settle the issue. This authority is automatically removed once the crisis is resolved. Likewise, in the event of attack or predator ambush, then the ' _toru-toru_ ,' or chief security officer (literally "watcher of the plains and skies"), is given command until the threat is repelled. It's rather like a civilian application of a military force posture. _(Addendum: My hypothesis is that these auto-assigned heuristic roles are a direct ancestor of the technologically advanced, yet operationally identical, node structures in modern-day galactic volus Combines. -Tiffany)_

At this point, volus civilisation is essentially a vast cloud of loosely associated regional groupings, still almost entirely defined by geography and other environmental factors. Certainly, they are held hostage by them – they can traverse the safer plains regions on most continents for most of the year, given favourable conditions, but at least a third of the species are cut off from the others, and this will continue for thousands of years. Even amongst the most well-connected regions, most interaction is done on a local scale – the closest human equivalent would be the proto-Chinese settlements along the Yellow River, or the various cities that were established around the Mediterranean rim; obstacles like the Sahara and the Gobi, or the Atlantic and the Himalayas, were still quite serious issues, to say nothing of every other problem they faced.

Likewise, the early volus had no way to deal with serious environmental problems, such as the oxygen bowls, reactive chemical rivers, radioactive heavy metal flats, underwater features, and so on. Predators were still quite a serious threat too, given that volus are not even close to being at the top of the Irunian food chain; it was generally the middle-tier pack predators that were the biggest issue on a day-to-day basis, since terrifying monsters like nessum or lictors were only an issue for the isolated and the extremely unlucky. Even herbivores can be tricky – sure, vau are both peaceful and delicious, but they also love to eat your staple fungus crops, and good luck trying to remove a herd of creatures that can accurately spray you with a burning necrotic toxin at well over eighty metres.

Given these peculiar conditions, it's really no surprise that early volus civilisation evolved as it did, with a highly social culture, designed to leverage their cooperative and competitive traits as group-based omnivores, a trade culture that maximises the utility and adaptability of their semi-nomadic nature, and an overwhelming _need_ to extract maximum value as a side-effect of Irune's strange and often highly specialised and challenging micro-environments.

* * *

 **The First of Plenix**

There are so many curious things about the 'Book of Plenix,' let alone the 'Path of Plenix,' that I'm really not sure where to begin.

Almost every single one of the galaxy's great religions share certain commonalities, despite their incredible differences in organisational structure, views on morality, the purpose of sapient life, et cetera. The great enemy, the personification of evil, a primordial force that defines or influences moral actions – it's a remarkably common archetype in the religions of the galaxy, and yet, there are no supernatural beings in the entire volus spiritual canon. What the Book of Plenix does offer is a physical and metaphysical alternative that is at once more banal, more rational, and more unknowably terrifying… but it isn't a god, or a demon, or a supernatural force of any kind.

It's entropy.

It's entropy in both the textbook-physics sense of the word and in the philosophical. The volus ultimately view 'evil' as the act of subtracting from the universe, whether that is subtracting value, life, or energy. To do 'good' is to be able to stand proud at the end of your life and be able to claim to all under heaven that you made a net positive contribution to the totality of existence, whereas to do 'evil' or to be 'evil' is to have achieved the exact opposite.

There is an ethical calculus to volus religion, and your relationship to the divine can literally be quantified. Evil actors, then, are agents of entropy – the reason that the wobblies find the batarian Dark Gods so repulsive is because they seem to act as monstrous agents of entropy, beings who only subtract and never add, at best divide but never multiply, who destroy without ever creating.

There is no balance to their actions, the actionable equation of their existence is infinitely lopsided, and so they can never experience any peace – they are worthy only of pity and disgust, nay, sanctions, by any good volus.

I could discuss this fascinating expression of alien nature and spiritually for at least three days, but as far as history goes there is one serious issue here that I'd like to touch upon; as far as I know, this is unique to the volus.

The Book and Path of Plenix is the _only_ volus religion that ever emerged from their entire civilisation. In their entire recorded history, in every shred and scrap of evidence anyone has ever uncovered, in even the most avant-garde and speculative analysis, it is the only expression of spirituality that they have ever known.

How very… curious.

There was no other pantheon, even in the very earliest days of volus history, when they were little more than hundreds of thousands of clans scattered around the planet – the exact scenario where you'd expect different prophets, gurus, and mystics to arise. Yet there were none. There are no artefacts, records, oral traditions, archaeological evidence, or even any myths or legends that hint at any other possibility. It appears that the Book of Plenix and the Cloudwalkers have always maintained a monopoly over volus spiritual life.

I find this extremely strange – even suspicious – given that the volus as a species are so committed to competition and the free flow of culture and ideas. Theoretically, their cultural environment would seem the most favourable to many different religions preaching many different creeds and seeking to convert as many followers as possible. Given the further wobbly aversion to the stagnation and decay brought about by an absolute monopoly, unchanged and unchallenged by competition, and this story moves from merely peculiar, to a screaming red flag.

* * *

 **To Walk in the Clouds and the Depths**

It's only appropriate that Cloudseekers and Depthwalkers both arose at roughly the same time. In a strange way, each need the other and, whilst they could exist apart, both factions rather perversely view the other as necessary, and much appreciated, competition for the spiritual and metaphysical direction of the entire volus species. I suppose this is simply another indication of just how alien volus can be. Humans, drell, and turians, for instance, are almost always infuriated by the existence of political, cultural, and even sexual competitors, seeing them as a threat to be eliminated, an obstacle to overcome, or a rival to force into submission.

Volus don't. They delight in the opportunity of competition just as much as they delight in overwhelming that same competition before welcoming the next. A volus merchant will warmly welcome a neighbouring store owner, offer traditional greetings and offers of hospitality, trading jokes and stories, dining with them, inquiring about each other's families and clans, before utterly destroying them and repeating the same story with the next trader – and the one whose business was ruined is _grateful_ for the learning experience! Politically, socially, sexually – even spiritually, as you'll see in the next few paragraphs – volus do the same. Can you imagine us doing this? Can you imagine, for instance, revolutionary communists openly encouraging venture capitalists to seed funding to their rivals across the street in a genuine effort to prove who is superior so that all the species can prosper? Can you imagine the High Lords welcoming public challenges to their leadership in order to correct any overlooked bias and increase marginal gains in human political involvement?

The thing about the alien is that sometimes they're so alien that they can do things that humans simply aren't capable of, and vice versa.

I discuss both Cloudseekers and Depthwalkers in the sections on volus culture and psychology, but a few words on their impact on volus history would not be amiss. The Cloudseekers are highest followers of the Path of Plenix. They are their own distinct clan, and they hold a great deal of power and influence within volus society despite not officially holding any such positions. (Rather like salarian Wheel Priests in that regard.) They continue to exist in the present, being the oldest of all the vol-clans (over fifteen thousand years!), and are effectively what most people think of (and meet) when dealing with volus religion.

Depthwalkers are a much more complex physical, psychological, and sociocultural phenomenon; they are fragmented into a small number of clans and a huge number of independent organisations that, whilst certainly clan-ish, are not actually clans, more like criminal associations or secret societies. Almost all extremist movements – well, what the wobblies consider extremism, at least – in Volus Space are either comprised entirely of Depthwalkers, or otherwise dominated by them. The only exception is active pacifist movements. Volus terrorists, value-extraction fanatics, so-called 'entropy vampires,' organised criminals, and so on are almost all on the Depthwalker spectrum, likewise with the volus present on Omega and in the Terminus. _(Addendum: Yes, there are volus on Omega, much to everyone's surprise, but who the hell do people think launder Aria's cash or manage her criminal empire? -Tiffany)_

Note that Depthwalkers don't actually replace or challenge the Book and Path of Plenix – most of them either reject it in their daily lives or offer… extremely sick and warped interpretations of the most esoteric portions.

Again, I find it curious and curiously unsettling that the wobbly equivalents of broken, malevolent sociopaths are on board with a spiritual framework that largely rejects them and shits on their existence.

Both factions are uncommon – combined there's less than twenty million of them in the entire volus population, and only about a million of those form the hardcore contingents. Yet despite this, they have both shaped volus history and continue to do so. The first – and only – example of outright conflict in volus society can be laid at their feet.

* * *

 **The War of Assassins**

Yes, I know, the volus language doesn't have a direct equivalent to 'war.' It may have four hundred different words and conjoined phrases which describe in exquisite detail every possible shade of socioeconomic dispute, but no word for 'armed conflict.' The closest volus equivalent is 'unprofitable bloodshed,' and the turian loan-word they use for 'war' is modified with the prefix indicating contempt for alien barbarism. _(Addendum: All you linguist geeks out there might be pleased to know that the 'unprofitable' subject modifier is colloquially used as a curse in volus trade cant, and that the official VDF war cry is 'May your death bring me riches!' -Tiffany)_

Nonetheless, the period that modern scholars call the 'War of Assassins' was indeed the bloodiest era in volus history, and was, without doubt, the closest that the species ever came to outright warfare and conventional battle.

It started, as these things tend to do, over nothing – a rebuffed proposal of marriage between clans that was intended to heal a decade-old trade dispute. It was the kind of doomed romance that untold numbers of sapient beings will experience in their lifetimes – honestly, could you think of anything more banal? Yet ultimately, it set in motion the events that were to bring volus society to the brink of collapse, kill millions, and leave fissures in the volus clan structure and religious sphere that exist in some form to this day.

Of course, there's so much more to that simple marriage proposal than it seems.

One clan, the Bordu, were from the northeastern Great Plains of the primary continent; they were a major player in volus life, based in the largest settlements and reliant upon road networks and good trade relationships to distribute their various manufactured goods (largely agricultural). Most importantly, they were the largest trading partner (and host) of the Cloudseeker mission in that region.

The second clan, the Rol, were based in the far harsher, mountainous southwestern regions of that same continent; they had only been recently discovered, and aside from a handful of trading posts and one major settlement, little was known about them. Relations were a little cold at first, by volus standards, but they soon found a common trade dialect, had a feast or two, and began negotiating common legal mediation measures, currencies, caravan routes, and so on.

Fine so far, right?

It was, at first. But the Rol had not had very much contact with the Cloudseekers at that point, and the one delegation the Seekers did send simply stopped sending messages and vanished after making it just beyond Rol territory. After a couple of years, Bordu intellectuals discovered that their clan merchants had been offered a great deal of rare metals in exchange for freely (and discreetly) spreading as many copies of possible of a certain text.

The text was called 'The Empty Gate,' and its author claimed to be 'the Shrouded Divine.' He (or she) claimed to have 'walked the Depths, past the Guardian of the Empty Gate at the end of the Broken Path, and to have emerged remade and delighted into a profane universe.' The author filled the text with many things: non-Euclidian geometrics and nihilistic string theories, insane splatters of colour and texture, glyphs and symbols in no known volus language, arguments that desecrated most Tenets of the Path of Plenix, and lastly (and worst of all) reams upon reams of equations designed to qualitatively demonstrate the negative value of Plenixian conservation of life-resources and the positive aspects of entropy and destruction.

Cloudseeking volus considered this text and its author to be blasphemous, deeply sick, and, without doubt, guilty of metaphysical terrorism.

Digital copies of the 'The Empty Gate' are the only text censored and banned in Volus Space. Physical copies are extremely rare (even on the galactic black market), historical ones even more so, and no one can say for sure what happened to the original one – it was never confirmed to be destroyed and was not recovered at the end of the War of Assassins. 'Original Intent' Depthwalkers hold that the Shrouded Divine did not die, having already been dead to the False Path and thus incapable of biologically dying, and is, in fact, present in the galaxy today and in possession of the original text. Some scholars suspect that the Cloudseeker clan recovered it and kept it a secret.

Perhaps we'll never know, and it's a mystery lost to history.

We do know that this dispute escalated, as the Bordu _shoshun_ accused her own merchants of having betrayed their clan, and the Cloudseeker mission accusing the Rol trading posts of either hiding the Shrouded Divine or being in league with it. The Rol were equally divided, with most grossly offended by the accusations (and the text in question) and wishing the issue to be settled, and a smaller, yet more powerful, minority arguing that they should form their own trading bloc with the other mountain clans and reject the plains entirely.

The peacemakers of both the Bordu and Rol clans hoped to heal this divide with a marriage alliance, sealing a grand bargain between them and opening the way for revised trade treaties and mutual policing measures.

The diplomatic majority were poised to win when a number of their own defected to the protectionist bloc, having received offers of fertiliser and windmill technology that would eliminate their dependence on the plains and mountain clans, respectively, in the first place. Thus, the path to conflict was decided.

There was only one problem. None of the clans _had_ that technology. No one did. It was ten or twenty years beyond what every known volus clan had.

Using modern technology and analytical techniques, we now know that this technology came from the first known Depthwalker proto-clan, who lived on the other side of the mountains, past the oxygen deserts and the chemical storms, near the oldest and deepest rift valley and gaping fissures that lend the Depths their name. It is an extraordinarily dangerous place, even with modern equipment, yet if you _can_ manage to survive, then it offers settlers some of the most rich and fertile land in all of Irune. More importantly, it is also some of the most isolated land.

The War of Assassins spiralled out of control from there, and for the volus it was a taste of madness.

Suspicion led to sanction which led to vendetta. Protectionism infected their primitive trade networks and exploited their geography to the worst possible effect, massively increasing food prices and limiting the number of food options available… which only made the 'coincidental' plagues and predator attacks that much worse. Trade either ground to a halt or was haphazard, a risk taken on only by the bravest, yet some caravans still made the distance. Isolationism wasn't a matter of foreign policy – it's genuinely painful for such a social species, in much the same manner that humans will go mad if deprived of social contact for a long enough period of time. This led to mass hysteria and paranoia, feeding increasingly irrational market bubbles, crashes, crunches, and outright runs.

When the Depthwalker proto-clan became known, they were the first volus to ever deploy personal weapons, and to use them against other volus. In this case, the design was a semi-automatic crossbow-like device that fired steel bolts from a chamber of thirty rounds; eventually, they developed primitive armour-piercing and explosive variants. In response to this, the Cloudseeker clan began to franticly develop new defensive measures and tactics, whilst the newly founded Marr clan invented a series of hand-held grenades, ingenious ballistae, and trebuchets to defend the Great Plains.

Clans were shattered and reforged, entire alliances struck and struck down, cities and leaders rising and falling and then rising again, but from that moment on, volus history would never be the same.

Some records are lost, and others are simply too fragmented or not detailed enough to help, but we know for a fact that similar events were occurring on most of Irune, and that only the most geographically isolated populations were unscathed. Still, for at least eight-five per cent of the volus species, the War of Assassins was a nightmare. You have to remember just how shocking and traumatizing this was for a species that had never known it and never would again – it scarred them in the same way that the First Contact War did for us.

I am aware that some readers might be scoffing, thinking that such a conflict would be nothing more than a footnote for most species… but I think that says far worse about most species than it does the volus.

* * *

 **Aftermath**

There are many unanswered questions from those dark times. Who, really, was the Shrouded Divine? Why were they never firmly identified or ever brought to justice? Why, when Free Association of City-States forces managed to breach the Depths, after three hundred and fifty years and horrific loses by all sides, did they find the Overcity already destroyed and abandoned, aside from a small sacrificial force? Why could they never find the entrance to the supposed Undercity? Why did the Cloudseekers sentence half the Rol clan to exile – effectively death by flora and fauna – and yet openly welcome and do all they could to support the other half? Why did the Bordu never again serve in any leadership capacity in volus society, instead becoming a highly successful yet humble-mannered craft guild? How did the Cloudseekers manage to so effectively parlay the War of Assassins into a golden age for volus spirituality and scientific development? How were the isolated volus populations affected by all of this – or not affected?

These questions and more are ones that many scholars offer many interesting answers to, but I have no definite ones to give you, sir. Perhaps there are a handful of specialists in galactic space who could tell you more, but outside of the highest of the Cloudseekers, the lowest of the Depthwalkers, the Cloudmaster herself, and perhaps the Seeker in the Archive of All Under Heaven here on Vol Prime, no one truly knows the entire story.

What we do know is that the War of Assassins lasted roughly four hundred years, that there was a period of recovery directly after that which lasted for about one hundred and fifty years

Note that the post-Assassins recovery period wasn't exactly an era of stagnation, per se, but rather, a time of, well, post-traumatic readjustment to 'normal' life in a world where everything normal had been shattered. The Great Plains economy had been devastated. The mountain clans had been exhausted. A good third of the fringe settlements and trading posts had withdrawn for hundreds of years before being forced to reengage towards the end, and there were dozens of fully developed settlements and nomadic peoples that were either cut off or only contactable with great effort and more than a little luck.

The recovery period was mostly volus civilisation regaining the lost resources, population, and (frankly) collective mental health that they had lost. Still, there were some very impressive developments in heavy engineering, environmental science, and medical science (largely treating physical and psychological trauma) during this time, as the wobblies were forced to learn how to put their world back together.

It was after this much-needed time of healing that the volus species entered what they call 'The Golden Year,' a heroic age of discovery and remarkable cultural, social, and technological development. (Note that The Golden Year covers well over eight hundred actual years, and perhaps even a couple of thousand depending upon your preferred school of history.) It wasn't continuous, of course, and there were several dozen minor and one major conflict during that time, but never again did volus turn upon volus as they once did.

For the sake of readability, I'll be following the format preferred by human scholars and dividing The Golden Year into its First, Second, and Third Components, with a brief digression on the Vendetta of Five Jewels and certain other key events.

* * *

 **All Under Heaven**

It fell upon the Cloudseekers to offer some kind of unifying purpose to volus public life in the wake of the collapse of the Great Plains clans; whilst there were other functional clan groupings spread throughout the planet, not one of them had made it through the War of Assassins unscathed, and the most well-placed clans (in terms of intact assets and available resources) were, ironically, ill-placed in terms of geography. It was the Cloudseekers alone that had the last surviving intercontinental trade and mission network, though it was very shakily put together in parts, and often dependent on powerful local or regional clan federations or city-states.

Their drive to unify the species was partly a matter of practicality and partly a matter of spiritual duty.

Practical, in that whilst volus do so love one-upping their rivals, they also recognise that cooperation and competition are merely the left and right arm of the same body, and that improving the vitality of the species as a whole obviously supersedes any personal agenda. If the vol-clan prospers then all volus prosper, after all, and so it was that the Cloudseekers sought to unify the basic diplomatic and commercial protocols used by the many clans. These protocols were, for the time, highly sophisticated, incorporating rituals of greeting, defined terms and a basic common trade-cant still in use today, contract templates, a declaration of factor and emptor rights, rigorous environmental protection measures, stock options, currency instruments (including insurance and derivative futures contracts!), and assorted mediation and dispute resolution mechanisms. _(Addendum: 'Factor and emptor' is the highbrow, wobbly way of saying 'buyer and seller.' -Tiffany)_

Yes, you could say that the Trade Mandate of the Heavens was a remarkable document – a declaration of the wobbly rights of commerce that demonstrated the sophistication of Earth's most advanced 20th Century markets at a time when the rest of the volus's tech was about on par with the early Middle Ages. _(Addendum: My old political economy professor once cattily described it as: "the Magna Carta for people who jerk-off to their bank account." Needless to say, I miss my old professor. -Tiffany)_

So, there were clear practical benefits from attempting to unite the species in this manner, but, as you'll soon see in the sections on volus culture, the Book and Path of Plenix are very weird, and the vast majority of orthodox Cloudseekers agreed that there was an overwhelming spiritual need to achieve those goals. Without going into too much unnecessary detail, the Path of Plenix declares that all volus have a spiritual duty to maximise net positive value extraction from the universe, and most conventional readings also suggest that the most effective way to do this is through work (literally "to take action upon the material plane"), itself compounded by trade and social relations (literally "the most delightful bounty is that earned by one and enjoyed by many"). In practise this meant that the Cloudseekers poured enormous amounts of thought and resources into ways to better harness untapped sources of energy, to reduce waste and pollution, and to maximise efficiency in certain areas (agriculture and metallurgy were the earliest ones, but in the modern age this extended to power generation and so on).

From a broadly historical perspective, the most important thing to remember is that a perfect storm of collective trauma in the aftermath of the War of Assassins, the freewheeling nature of clan social dynamics, the peculiar environment of Irune, and the Tenets of the Path of Plenix laid the foundation for a virtuous cycle that, in turn, exploded into the First (and, in my eyes, most impressive) Golden Year in volus history.

* * *

 **The First Golden Year**

Much of what we now consider to be traditional volus high culture originated in the First Golden Year. Their hospitality rituals, at once warmly welcoming and exquisitely detailed, were largely standardised. In fact, the 'Coda of Hospitality' was the first universal law adopted by all of volus civilisation. I suppose that, in itself, tells you quite a bit about them, and there is some academic value to be found there: it's telling that an entire species intrinsically associates encountering new life with the possibility of 'bountiful delights and mutually beneficial exchange.' I find this sweetly optimistic compared to the usual cynicism and cruelty you find in other race's history. Note that this is not to say that volus are overly naïve or stupid. They're not. Behind all those warm declarations of friendship and commerce they tend to be very astute thinkers and keen observers of alien behaviour and psychology, and they'll almost certainly have a contingency plan if negotiations fail or become hostile.

Moving on – I believe I was discussing the flowering of volus high culture? The most famous art forms of this period are, of course, the coloured sand arts and the _Bolo_ paintings. The coloured sand arts are actually an umbrella term for a related set of disciplines; most use coloured sands, obviously, either gently blowing them into place with a special tool or by applying them directly and then shaping them with a scalpel, but other forms use semi-organic or even crystallised or gaseous substances. I'll be discussing the _Bolo_ paintings in the culture sections, since they are worthy of talking about in their own right.

 _Kuro_ , or 'Sky Havens,' emerged as a defining feature of social life at this point; a _kuro_ is essentially a communal gathering point, like a blend of bazaar, coffeehouse, and amphitheatre, where volus engage in fierce (though largely good-natured) trade, debate, and recreation. There were several variants based on locale. A _basabian_ , for instance, was a far-flung outpost on a trade route, used as a redoubt against predators, a resting place for caravans, and a rough-and-tumble market for professional services (anything from bounty services to cooks to lawyers to saboteurs). A _patak_ , on the other hand, was a rather highbrow private establishment that catered exclusively to members engaging in philosophical debates, poetry slams (I'm _not_ calling it a volus rap battle), and competitive wrestling. A _kuro tashen_ was a much more purist establishment, always established on mountaintops (including underwater mountains in later volus history!), and dedicated solely to Cloudseekers walking the many Paths of Plenix.

Further details are best left for the cultural sections, but there is one lesson you should be taking away here: all of these cultural forms exist in some manner or another in the present day. The First Golden Year was hugely influential on the volus's development as a unified people, even if this influence was subtle in the moment and best noticed over the long view of history.

* * *

 **The Second Golden Year**

If the First Golden Year was defined by the healing of the collective volus psyche, the consolidated role the Cloudseekers played in volus society, and the flourishing of high art and culture, then the Second Golden Year could be considered a time of discovery.

The defining feature of this era was the gradual unification of the volus species; almost all of them were contacted, but about one per cent remained isolated until the Third Golden Year. This was heralded as a great triumph by every volus alive, and they viewed it as the fulfilment of both a commercial and a religious imperative – having maximised their available market within a finite trading space, they could now begin to optimise their global economy in order to reap the highest possible bounties of life. This in turn would benefit all volus, with the added bonus that they didn't spend most of their time killing or plotting against each other, as so many other species did.

It was also at this time that regional federations, typically made up of major clan groupings and various city-states, became the dominant feature of the wobbly political landscape.

These associations were fairly loose, rarely interfering with daily affair of volus life and even then with a light touch, but they were highly scalable and flexible enough to be seamlessly integrated into existing clan political structures. Effectively, this allowed for an increasingly intercontinental form of representative mercantile meritocracy, tempered as it was by volus conceptions of the rights and responsibilities of all volus, and kept in check by the fluidity of clan dynamics and the corrections of the Cloudseekers.

Technological development during this time was evolutionary rather than revolutionary, as it was in the First and Third Golden Years. For the first time in their history, most volus had the capacity to begin exploring the harsher (or otherwise stranger) regions of Irune. That said, many of the more extreme locales were still off-limits – places like the deep oceans, the floating land formations, the auroras, the Depths, and the harshest chemical dust bowls and oxygen deserts were still far too dangerous to explore, and the wobblies had no real counter to the apex predators of Irune.

As an aside, the apex predators of Irune are the nessum, the lictor, and the strider. Nessum are aerial predators; females typically live in flocks with their children, in permanent roosts and nests in the highest regions of Irune, whilst males are nomadic and mostly solitary. Both are enormous hypercarnivorous gliders capable of dive-bombing at several hundred kilometres an hour or flying stealthily through the mist for days; they display an unnerving capacity for reading atmospheric conditions and using them to their benefit. Lictors are the supreme ground predator of Irune; they form a monogamous couple, are ambush predators that can grow to a few dozen metres long and resemble something of a cross between a platypus and a basilisk. They're very rare outside of the Depths regions. Finally, striders (the true volus word is physically unpronounceable by humans) are actually a closely related family of subspecies, not all of which are carnivores – technically, one is an apex herbivore (and so not a predator… still deadly though). Most are tripods, and each subspecies is highly specialised in order to live in a distinct ecosystem on Irune; there's an underwater variant that's fifty metres tall and rules over vast seaweed colonies, one that lives in the uranium flats, one with gel-filled bones and ultralight honeycombed chitin plates that thrives in the chemical dust bowels, and so on.

Fine, we'll move on. _I_ for one found all of that interesting.

You'll no doubt have noticed that, whilst this steady expansion and social progress is all well and good, the wobblies didn't _really_ solve any of the fundamental problems raised during the War of Assassins. Yes, they resolved the downstream social and political issues – and did so with great skill – but the underlying philosophical and religious differences were never really addressed, merely superseded by new goals. As you'll see in the next section, this had long-term consequences.

* * *

 **The Vendetta of Five Jewels**

I do so enjoy the volus's taste for using poetic titles to cover banalities. At the time, the 'Vendetta of Five Jewels' (good lord it still sounds like the name of some kabuki opera) was the most serious intra-volus conflict since the infamous War of Assassins, which partly explains the fancy title. It is revealing, thought, to note that volus codify disagreements as 'Vendettas,' implying that these are mere personal beefs rather than evidence of true discord and bloodshed. The Five Jewels, in this case, referred to the five mutually exclusive (or at least deeply suspicious) factions who engaged in Vendetta with one another – the problem being that each espoused a distinct socioeconomic metaphysical philosophy, and each was jockeying for influence over volus commerce and the direction of their species.

These philosophies themselves were often quite serious, even if some of their more… enthusiastic adherents seem utterly fucking mad in retrospect. _(Addendum: There was one energy-conservation-extraction fanatic who was utterly convinced that space was not actually a vacuum, and that all volus had a spiritual duty on pain of death to build a giant windmill to the stars in order to harness this energy and fulfil the Will of Plenix. Even other Cloudseekers thought that guy was weird. -Tiffany)_

The First Jewel were orthodox volus who valued status quo, arguing that this state of affairs represented a harmonious social equilibrium best suited for netting steady, modest gains for the vol-clan in the long-term. They valued cooperation, but not at the expense of the development of the species. They valued competition, but not when it passed the point where it simply cannibalised whatever it created. They valued the Path of Plenix, but were deeply sceptical of the claims of both positive and negative extraction theorists, believing that the lack of balance between these perspectives led to such horrors as the War of Assassins. They were, in short, moderates – people who wanted a better future, but were first concerned with conserving their hard-won gains.

The Second Jewel were progressive volus who advocated for the absolute sanctity of creative destruction and destructive creativity within markets. They believed that any equilibrium was, by definition, temporary, being the result of conflicting forces of supply and demand at a given scale within the universe, and that it was at best naïve and at worst criminally negligent to try and force the temporal to become permanent. They believed that to change was to experience life and to progress was to experience happiness, whilst to stagnate was the truest form of death. Oddly enough, these volus were surprisingly unconcerned with the actual details and day-to-day implementation of their ideas – perhaps unsurprising given how overly abstract and intellectual they are – and sought to influence the actions of the more orthodox volus over time.

The Third Jewel were slightly mad. There's no other way to put it. They were a loose coalition of volus splinter groups, cult movements, civic associations, radical academics, communitarian theorists, value-extraction fanatics, a few rare pacifist Depthwalkers, eccentric tycoons, and various other kooks and weirdos who simply didn't fit anywhere else. All they really had in common was the fact that no one else wanted anything to do with them. Ordinarily, this would be a weakness, but the Third Jewel soon found that could attract and retain a great deal of support simply by appealing to whatever pet cause motivated a particular faction. It should be noted that the volus _do_ have a long history of being remarkably accepting (and even encouraging) of eccentrics who happen to be either hyper-focused on a problem or extraordinarily skilled at one thing.

What this meant was that the Third Jewel, despite looking like the wobbly version of Westwatch on paper, could call upon a specialist in practically every field. For example, one of their many member groups was a fringe movement of primitivists who advocated that volus return to their seminomadic roots… which seems crazy until you remember that this movement was also home to the foremost agricultural experts and food economists in volus society. That nut I mentioned earlier, who wanted to build a giant windmill in space, was, of course, mad… and also a mathematical savant who singlehandedly developed n-space compression theory a full _three thousand years_ before anyone could practically begin testing it with neutronium and modern mass effect fields.

Just because someone's crazy doesn't mean they're _wrong_.

The Fourth Jewel were a _de facto_ alliance of volus who were exasperated with the intellectual circle-jerk of all the other Jewels and who simply wished to trade and live as they'd like, free of any justifications or philosophical framework. They argued that if you couldn't quantify your objectives or your gains, literally at the end of your day, then your work was no work at all and was effectively meaningless. If your grand debates and highbrow theories couldn't be mathematically proven, field-tested, and directly parleyed into goods, services, or experiences of measurable value, then you were simply wrong. They viewed philosophy solely as a blueprint for action, and measured its worth by how effective it was at improving the practitioner's life – putting more coin in your pocket, improving quality of life for your community, increasing the efficiency of your businesses, strengthening your relationships, and so on. Needless to say, they were by far the most practical and pragmatic faction, and were heavily backed by most independent trading consortiums, shipping and logistics concerns, and a small number of influential tycoons.

The Fifth Jewel were dangerous extremists who argued that value addition and energy extraction were both absolute and zero-sum by nature. They believed that these affairs were not so much divorced from morality, but rather, represented a new morality, one that superseded all previous conceptions of good and evil. Naturally, if you argue that any exchange in the universe is ultimately a zero-sum game, then you're going to **A)** place an overwhelming emphasis on your own fitness to compete relative to your peers and **B)** place almost no value on people you deal with, save that of their contribution to the equation and possibly their personal value to you, which is exactly what the Fifth Jewel did.

You'll note quite a few parallels between the Fifth Jewel and the Depthwalker proto-clan during the War of Assassins, or even with various Depthwalker organisations today, and whilst there is a common philosophical thread weaving between the two there are also serious, fundamental differences. For a start, the Fifth Jewel did _not_ consider entropy to have any positive attributes, which is something of a Depthwalker tenet, and there was no shadowy conspiracy here – the Fifth Jewel openly stated their beliefs and publically debated their opponents (at least in the beginning) in order to assert their superiority. Yes, Depthwalker groups and individuals were mostly drawn to the Fifth Jewel, but they were also represented in the Third and Second Jewels. Note too that the Fifth Jewel's arguments were not antireligious, in volus terms, compared to the arguments of the Shrouded Divine. Finally, there has never been any unity amongst Depthwalker factions since the War of Assassins – as you'll see in the Culture section, they have several mutually exclusive groups within their ranks.

Now that we've covered the Five Jewels, it's time to discuss the eponymous Vendetta.

The Vendetta of Five Jewels was a lively cold war that lasted almost two hundred years in total, being comprised of several decades of socioeconomic hostilities, culminating in a series of outright trade wars and violence by proxy, followed by a gradual thaw, an official détente, a minor series of flare-ups and terrorist actions, and then over a decade of diplomatic summits and intellectual quorums designed to permanently resolve the conflict.

I'm not going to cover all of this in exhaustive detail, obviously. That would tell you nothing that you couldn't look that up on the Common Knowledge Framework, after all, and even that doesn't tell you what _really_ matters.

I'll tell you what really matters.

First and most fundamentally is that both of the most serious conflicts in volus history, the Vendetta of Five Jewels and the War of Assassins, were deeply rooted in questions of volus identity and in mathematical and metaphysical philosophy. What does it mean to be vol-clan, and how can the vol-clan best prosper? What fundamental assumptions should we make when working on or within the universe? What should we value, how should we value it, and how do we add to or subtract from this value? What is the true nature of matter, energy, and work, and what does this mean for volus?

Now the idea of fighting wars over hundreds of years at the cost of millions of lives over possible answers to these questions will seem utterly insane to human readers. Ordinarily I would agree, but questions of value are extraordinarily serious matters for volus in the same way that questions of memory are serious to drell and questions of unity are serious to asari: they determine not just the direction, but the very nature of the species.

Second is just how much more evolved volus conflict-resolution measures had become, particularly compared to earlier on in their history. The 'hot' conflict portion of the Vendetta of Five Jewels lasted less than a third as long as the War of Assassins. The post-Vendetta recovery period was shorter and far steadier. The Vendetta featured a reduced causality count with (and this is very important given volus ethics) plausible deniability by most parties for the sicker acts of sanction and sabotage. _(Addendum: Ah, yes, volus, a people who consider directly shooting someone to be a repulsive act of barbarian violence, but refusing to trade lifesaving medications or spreading a plague amongst your enemy's staple crops are merely 'matters of commercial dispute.' -Tiffany)_

Third, the volus incorporated or otherwise reconciled many of the philosophical differences between the Five Jewels in the post-Vendetta recovery period. Not only was this instrumental (and almost certainly necessary) in launching the Third Golden Year, it also subtly impacted volus society and culture in ways that can even be seen today. Even negative aspects of the experience were seen as useful learning points. For example, the Vol Protectorate's brutal sanctions against the krogan in the aftermath of the Rebellions were merely technological updates to identical tactics used during the Vendetta, and the volus actually sponsored Deathwatch and STG raids against krogan agricultural and social infrastructure. On a more positive note, dispute resolution mechanisms that arose from the various diplomatic missions between the Jewels were, in the modern era, incorporated into the Vol Court of Corporations and into most Combines. You can even see it in action today with the volus's outreach efforts to the quarians.

Finally, the Vendetta of Five Jewels directly spurred the founding of most of the organisations and processes that came to form the modern volus government. Chief of these was the High Court of the Vol-Clan, an organisation which continues to this day and which forms a critical part of the volus government and, indeed, of volus life, but the positions of Cloudmaster and Proctor were also formalised at this point. _(Addendum: It also formalised a good dozen goofy idioms that are still used in wobbly culture. To 'flip your opals' is to be suddenly enraged in a situation that wouldn't normally call for it, whilst to 'run the jewels' is to talk endlessly about boring, pedantic shit as an excuse to not take action. -Tiffany)_

* * *

 **The Third Golden Year**

Covering a period of roughly four hundred and fifty years, the Third Golden Year was typified by many of the social and technological developments that we experienced in the Industrial and Information Ages, as well as the Days of Iron and the Days of Peace (though without any of the endless geopolitical conflicts, world wars, and nightmarish atrocities and crimes against humanity). You could well argue that such suffering was inherent and indeed _defining_ of those periods of our history, and so it could not possibly compare to that of the more peaceful volus, and in a narrow sense you would be right. More broadly, however, they are comparable in terms of technological development and in how these innovations shaped and were shaped by volus social structures. More importantly, such a parallel is also of great value to my human readers, since a critical comparative analysis highlights the radically divergent nature of volus life compared to ours.

I'm glad we've settled this.

Moving on. My human readers will be intrigued to note that it was only in the Third Golden Year when the volus truly developed megacities as we would know them (population of twenty-plus million in the combined metropolitan area, in those times, or fifty-plus million today). Ultimately, these became the first volus arcologies, but from an anthropological perspective, such settlements represented a radical departure from the previous volus life of semi-nomadism, ranging from primitive settlements and simple trade routes on the Great Plains to the much more sophisticated _kuro_ and city-state networks of the earlier Golden Years. Over time the volus became less nomadic than their ancestors, of course – how else would civilisation be possible, after all? – but even in previous Golden Years, most volus would spend the equivalent of 3 – 4 months in one location before rotating to the next, out of, perhaps, a handful of predetermined options. Note that most of these options would be with related clans and most likely clannu, but they would occasionally move to unfamiliar locations (unless they were raising children, of course).

Most humans would find this experience quite stressful at best, and at worst it would be highly disruptive to our careers, social lives, and even mental health, but volus experience literally the opposite effect – their word for the experience carries connotations of social intimacy, the excitement of new horizons, new market opportunities, and family bonding (for coupled volus) and, amusingly enough, getting laid (for single volus). Note that this phenomenon appears to be strictly psychological (or at least cultural), _not_ physical – modern volus experience the exact same thing regardless of whether they move from Irune to Secunda or from one end of the Zakera Ward to the other. Five hundred light-years or five hundred metres, it doesn't make a difference.

This pooling of social and intellectual capital, enabled as it was by the volus's already flourishing capacity for trade and logistics, meant that they had no real need to fight one another as we did (and still do, depressingly enough). The volus perceive scarcity as a _blessing_ , since it forces need and encourages desire, thus leaving the possibility of profit through mutually beneficial trade. Consequently, they were able to devote far more resources to civil pursuits, although a vocal minority (largely the Cloudseekers, pessimistic metaphysicists, and hardline survivalist clans) furiously argued about the opportunity cost of ignoring defence capabilities in an unknown universe potentially full of unknown actors whose intentions are uncertain, and pointed to the War of Assassins to show where such naïveté had gotten the vol-clan in the past. _(Addendum: Essentially, these wobblies were using the Dark Forest Theory to advocate hedging their bets as a species. Killing doesn't appeal to most volus, but risk analysis and gambling metaphors sure as hell do. -Tiffany)_

These survivalist types were actually successful in their second appeal to the elite intellectual Quorum of the High Court – largely through the support of the Ores Tashen (the highest of the Cloudseekers) at the time – and this led to the establishment of the precursor to the modern VDF, as well as the establishment of the first volus military academy (literally "Grand Salon of Blood-Profit").

So it was that the Third Golden Year saw the volus experiencing explosive growth and discovery across several different fields, including civil engineering, biology and agriculture, physics and environmental science, aeronautics, manufacturing, and even extremely basic robotics and cybernetics! Again, you'll note that the volus's 'tech tree,' for want of a better phrase, was distorted compared to our own – in some areas, they were astoundingly advanced, in others, quite backward. Some of these developments were unique to Irune, such as certain medical procedures and treatments for chemical burns, predator attacks, rapid changes in environmental state, and so on. This included the development of the first volus pressure suits, designed to explore Irune's many unique locales – underwater mountains, floating land formations, oxygen deserts, chemical dust bowls, and so on.

Others were impressive regardless of what planet you're on – these volus cities had environmental footprints roughly equivalent to modern Eden Prime, and the Cloudseeker clan developed and successfully deployed a series of sodium-cooled breeder reactors during what for humans would be the equivalent of the Renaissance! And yet, their military was equipped with gauss crossbows and they had no automobiles of any kind, save for airships. To be fair, you could fit these airships with a pulse detonation engine – don't ask how the hell that worked in Irune's atmosphere – if you were willing to run the risk of exploding at Mach 3… or well before then. _(Addendum: Volus airship racing is still hugely popular today, and, with the advent of mass effect fields and other modern conveniences, is only_ somewhat _likely to kill you. -Tiffany)_

* * *

 **To the Stars**

Volus efforts to explore their solar system and move beyond the confines of Irune were greatly bolstered by the Cloudseeker clan's earlier research and development efforts, and particularly by their seed capital in volus energy Combines; the fact that their religion itself imbued such works with a veneer of righteous duty was merely a bonus. Whilst it took several decades, on and off, for their computational and aerospace engineering skills to develop, eventually the wobblies launched into space and began exploring their solar system.

They rapidly settled their moons, both the larger and smaller, and soon spread out onto the various gas giants and other planets, eventually settling two of them and laying the foundations for several semi-permanent space stations. (Vol Prime is amongst them, though I'll be covering that later, since that humble docking station eventually became the first sapient-made gigastructure in known space.)

They eventually discovered the Aru Relay on the edge of the system. Obviously, this was a tremendous shock at first, since it was undeniable proof that they were not alone in the galaxy and that whatever else that was out there, or that had previously existed, was more powerful than they were. Oddly enough, this was not at all traumatic or intimidating to the wobblies; they evolved as an upper-middle tier omnivore, technically a prey species, and they _certainly_ aren't at the top of the Irune food chain, so the idea of there being superior beings – almost certainly predators – out there in the galaxy was actually _comforting_ to the wobblies, since it reminded them of the inherent natural order present on the only home they had ever known. They had survived Irune, and so they would learn to survive the galaxy at large.

If anything, they were more relaxed after the discovery of the relay. They figured it was clearly evidence that life within the universe was merely a matter of scale, and that any differences were more a perception of shrinking or expanding vectors rather than radically altered or inconceivable market conditions.

Volus are weird.

Unlike us, however, they had no Mars Archive, no dress up box of Prothean finery, and no stash of barely understood fragmentary knowledge to boost their tech base. This was both a blessing and a curse, since it allowed them to truly develop along their own technological and sociological path, but it also hindered, by denying them any developmental shortcuts. It took them three hundred years to figure out how to operate the relay, but then this time allowed them to mature as a species and as a united civilisation, and they consolidated their operations within their solar system. There were, it must be said, several small conflicts and minor Vendettas at this point, mostly revolving around the colonisation priorities of the species as a whole and the bidding rights of the various clans.

There was also a growing amount of organised crime, mostly trafficking in corporate espionage and sabotage, and this led to a series of shadow conflicts between private security agencies and outright trade wars between various Combines off of Irune itself. Unlike the Vendetta of Five Jewels, however, this violence did not extend to the species as a whole, nor did it reach Irune, so we can at least conclude that those responsible were trying to be discreet, calculating that if the conflict was limited to solar system assets, then they could avoid too much scrutiny. _(Addendum: There is some scattered yet compelling evidence of a serious (yet quietly covered up) religious clash between ultraorthodox Cloudseekers and Depthwalker groups at this time, but we don't have any further data, and even volus sources are oddly quiet on the subject -Tiffany)_

Still, for most this was a time of steady progress and development, and for the first time, the wobblies began exploring and settling beyond their home system. But then, as with us, destiny intervened.

* * *

 **First Contact**

You can read the tedious details of first contact between the volus and the turians on the extranet, where some tweaky, obsessive-compulsive salarian data junkie has no doubt deconstructed the entire affair on a minute-by-minute basis from primary sources.

Raw data isn't what matters here.

One needs to consider the broader psycho-historical context for both species. At the time of first contact, the Hierarchy was in a difficult position, the Palavanus even more so, and the volus were rather clever in the way they approached the turians as a whole.

For a start, the wobblies were in the strongest position they'd experienced for many, many years; the species was effectively unified, they'd resolved most of their most pressing disputes, their planet was in excellent condition, their development was entirely sustainable, and their early exploration of their solar system was actually proceeding ahead of schedule.

And the birds? Well, they were well offside. Despite being at the tail-end of their (post) industrial age, and thousands of years past the 'Burning,' their society was still fundamentally _damaged_ in a way that makes the turians of today seem chilled and well-adjusted. Technically, their civilisation was unified… but in practise this state of affairs was inevitable, the passive acceptance of survivors too tired to keep killing each other in the name of unity. You can break and reforge someone in boot camp, but at the end of the day you're still dragging them towards a future that they should be wilfully embracing. Naturally, their planet was even more of an ecological disaster than it is anyway, critical resources were being rapidly chewed up, and their development programs designed to cope with these conditions were little more than old wartime crash programs repurposed for non-military goals. Their economy was, sadly, doing fine on a per capita basis by turian standards, since a war footing suits them best.

You're no doubt aware that a full _forty per cent of the turian species_ were killed by other turians in the course of a single century.

That's really not the act of a psychologically healthy people.

In so many ways, they really couldn't be any more different from the wobblies, which is perhaps why they tend to get along so well.

Moving on. By the time of first contact, the birds had already engaged in a total war against the arcaea, who were subject to a brutal genocide, ecocide, planetcide, and ultimately extinction. _(Addendum: The exact same fate we would have suffered if not for the compassion and altruism of a single asari. Never forget. -Tiffany)_

Again, this was actually healthy for the turian economy and even for their society in many ways, which, I suppose, says oh so much about the birds, but there was a darker, more introspective reaction in some quarters. More intellectual members of the turian elite – including, crucially, many influential Palavanus, once they'd calmed down from the fighting – were somewhat troubled by the more antisocial instincts their brethren displayed _en masse_ , and privately wondered what this meant for the future of the Hierarchy's social structures and, indeed, of turian honour itself. I strongly suspect, based on my own analysis of available primary sources from the time, that these turians had begun to unravel the broken, schizophrenic loop of aggression, frustration, and self-destruction that the birds so often display (and that I'm constantly talking about, even writing papers on).

But that's a story for another time. What matters, historically speaking and as far as the wobblies go, was that for the first time in their history, the birds were seriously reconsidering their role in the universe, in how they interacted with the galaxy at large, and in how they should approach other intelligent species in the future.

They encountered the volus approximately fifteen hundred years ago. The wobblies had begun exploring the relays and, having examined several different solar systems, were surprised to discover that their world and the life it spawned were shockingly different from the galactic norm. Still, they managed to establish several new colonies – Secundus was without doubt the most successful, containing three habitable planets, two easily accessible gas giants, and two asteroid belts rich in exotic materials – and their understanding of mass effect technology was undoubtedly more advanced than ours was at the equivalent development period. It was far superior to that of the turians, in fact, which proved to be very useful leverage in their future negotiations. _(Addendum: Astute readers will no doubt notice a trend here – volus are very clever when it comes to energy extraction and management, and very cunning when it comes to trade relating to these. -Tiffany)_

You'd think that first contact between these two would either immediately collapse into a chaotic battle or otherwise involve a bumbling half-decade of awkward misunderstandings as they clumsily tried to decipher each other's biology, language, and culture. Sadly, you'd be wrong – whilst the latter pretty much perfectly describes the first eight months, at that point Pretarch Sellus Palavanus came up with a rough translation primer for both species that served as a launching point for a crash program of interspecies understanding. _(Addendum: eyes only: Illusive Man: Trellani mentioned to me that it was extremely likely that the volus made contact with the Citadel – specifically, elements of the asari elite –_ _ **before**_ _they made contact with the turians. I'll be investigating this matter as soon as possible. -Tiffany)_

He met with Tima Kwanu, Counsel of the High Court of the vol-clan and All Under Heaven, aboard the command dreadnought _Bloodied Claw of Honour and Duty_ , and presented her with the terms of service demanded by the Hierarchy in the name and eternal glory of the turian people.

It was in that moment that Kwanu came to her decision and said a single word that forever changed the destiny of her people, of the turians, and ultimately of the Citadel itself. She acted on a scale that none of her kind had attempted before, with an audacity that shook the resolve of some of the hardest conquerors this galaxy has seen, and in doing so, became celebrated as the greatest hero Irune has ever known.

Kwanu said: "No."

She stood there alone, with no aides or bodyguards or friends or allies. She stood on the hardened plasma steel decking of the prime command dreadnought of the 1st Fleet of Palaven, the supreme flagship of a naval host so endless it blotted out half of Irune's sun. She was surrounded by half of the Unbroken Circle, the only two living Praetors, and the Heir Imperator of the Palavanus.

And she told them "no" like she was arguing over the price of a pie at her local market.

The room was silent for almost a minute, and Kwanu later confessed that she thought she was going to die in that moment, before Sellus Palavanus collapsed into laughter and beckoned her over to the conference table in the nearby admiral's stateroom. They spoke and argued and negotiated and traded stories for almost four months in that room, with aides and policy advisers and strategists of both species constantly shuffling in and out, but eventually they came to an accord – the _Turian-Volus Accord on Commerce, Honour, and Clan_ , if you must know, a million-word epic transcribed on vakar and nessum velum in both volus High Trade Cant and turian Spirit-Script – and so it was that the alliance between their species was born and the galaxy changed forever.

* * *

 **Like Brothers**

It's well-established that the volus inadvertently contributed to the first of the modern Unification Wars, a fact that historians of both species now consider tragic. Neither species could truly claim to understand the other, despite their best efforts, and both claimed to be acting in the best interests of the other in their dealings and interspecies integration. turian culture certainly did affect the volus over the long-term, true, but vice versa? The staid, sclerotic turian culture simply wasn't prepared for the dynamism of volus markets. How could they be?

The end result… well, for the birds it was like hearing music or getting drunk for the first time. Within fifty years of their first meeting, the standard of living for the average turian had increased by a factor of thirty, per capita labour productivity soared, turian GDP was growing by twelve per cent per annum, and the Hierarchy itself was running a budget surplus for the first time in its history. _(Addendum: Of course, when you're growing your GDP from such a hilariously low base, then bragging about twelve per cent gains carries all the gravitas of a boy measuring the per annum growth of his dick. -Tiffany)_

I know this seems like some painfully dull textbook commentary, but you have to consider the effect this had on both volus and turian culture. For the first time in the history of their species, the average turian man or woman was no longer bound by the immediate needs of survival. They still felt that constant sense of paranoia telling them to prepare for some future disaster – as the birds do – but in the meantime they could stop and consider the moment. Both species were delighted to see that the other possessed a strong clan culture, but, of course, volus and turian clans couldn't be more different, and the volus's efforts to inject life and dynamism into turian inter-clan relations was an utter disaster.

Volus clans are voluntary associations designed to maximise value extraction and security for volus members, adapt rapidly to shifting market conditions, and exist in an equally vibrant social and cultural sphere. Turian clans are rigid structures designed more to act as a cultural redoubt than anything else, enforcing turian traditions and homogenising identities in an effort to breed unity. _(Addendum: Exhibit four million and twelve as to why the birds are off their fucking trees and are going to get us all killed one day when the entire species goes postal. -Tiffany)_

This issue was magnified and, ironically, resolved by the Krogan Rebellions. Whilst the turians launched themselves at the opportunity to unify the species behind a new total war, and thus secure a position for themselves on the Citadel Council and the galactic stage, for the volus, it was the first real taste they'd ever had of bloody slaughter. The krogan, of course, tended to massacre whatever volus they encountered in space or on the ground, and with the exception of a few militaristic clans (and a handful of Depthwalker-affiliated terrorist and organised crime groups) the volus had no serious military option available at their immediate disposal.

All they could do was focus on optimizing the turian war machine, which was exactly what they did, and there is no doubt that this contributed greatly to the turians' success. It certainly earned the turians' deepest gratitude, if nothing else. The volus were furious after the krogan launched several asteroids at key volus space stations, population centres, and planetary megafactories, and after the war, Irune singlehandedly financed the _entirety_ of the Citadel's blockade against Tuchanka, singlehandedly crushing their economic and social recovery in the aftermath of the Genophage deployment.

I went over some of these notes with Petrovsky, via the extranet, and some of the wartime records uncovered by Vigil offer fascinating insights into how volus approach war. Even the most pacifist and idealistic clans saw themselves as having a duty to defend the vol-clan at all costs, and they approached the conflict in much the same manner as they would defending a hostile takeover. Indeed, these were the same clans that directed their resources at propping up the Hierarchy, funding private military companies and streamlining logistics and resource recovery.

To them, it was war as a form of venture capital, and even the meekest of them emptied their purse for the cause. I suspect they would do so again, if faced with a grave threat in the present day.

The more militaristic (or just amoral and self-serving) clans were far more savage than anyone would ever suspect from volus. They borrowed the turian ethic that that honour can only be accorded to those who already possess it, implying that the krogan were aggressive, barbarian savages who were unbound by volus civilisational norms and so could never be treated with the respect one would extend to a fellow volus or even a turian. The Cloudseekers, for their part, declared the Krogan Empire and all who served it to be agents of entropy, to be purged from this heavenly plane so that all volus may seek the magnificent bounty of life, unfettered by the sickness and cruelty of the un-volus and uncivilised.

In practise? The more hardline volus launched asteroids of their own at krogan colonies (after having strip-mined them for valuable minerals and salting them with transuranic elements, of course). They released plagues that devastated krogan staple crops and developed extremophile bacteria that ate krogan fuel supplies. They refitted supermassive bulk haulers to deploy materials designed to geoengineer the krogan planets in such a way as to make them hostile to krogan life. They created vast swarms of primitive suicide drones and smart minefields that made life hell for krogan fleets.

They avoided direct contact and combat with the krogan, knowing such a thing wouldn't end in their favour, and instead set out to utterly destroy the krogan's long-term warfighting capacities whilst denying them a head-on fight.

For a race that's all too often mocked as comic relief, they displayed a frightening capacity for ruthlessness when they felt that they were truly threatened.

* * *

 **Modern Times**

Most of latter modern volus history will be at least somewhat familiar to my readers, so thankfully we don't need to cover it in exhausting detail. There are, of course, a few matters that stand out.

The Vol Protectorate was, for damn near one and a half thousand years, the only thing that stood between the Hierarchy economy and the various plots and machinations of the asari and salarians.

This is not to say that the birds are stupid or somehow incapable or noticing when they're being manipulated, but the blues and greys were cunning enough to either operate through third-parties (in the case of their deniable black ops) or to operate entirely through legitimate means (subtly directing their CEOs to take certain actions in turian markets). They were disruptive to the turians in the same way that globalisation was disruptive to Earth nations in the 21st Century; it was almost entirely open, the result of legitimate dealings, or else vast structural and systemic changes that were caused by the aggregate choices of billions of actors making trillions of decisions. What the wobblies did was offer the turians room to manoeuvre within various trading spaces, correcting market fluctuations and bubbles as they saw fit. They saw mass and offered fluidity. Think of the Vol Protectorate as the First Officer and Navigator of the turian economy.

The Unseen Cloud and the modern VDF came of age during this time, though there is fragmentary evidence that the Unseen Cloud precursor organisation dates back far earlier than we know, perhaps to the private industrial espionage and organised crime groups of the late Third Golden Age. Certainly, they answer to the highest of the Vol Protectorate, and always have. Regardless, there were certain tensions between the birds and wobblies, particularly in the last five hundred years, and these have slowly become bitterer in some circles. Many higher-ranking turian military and law enforcement figures were frustrated with the VDF's slow development, and felt that the Protectorate could be doing more to fight off the more egregious attacks by asari and salarian business interests. The volus Proctors, for their part, were increasingly tired of not being taken seriously as a galactic power, and of the general cynicism and militarism displayed by too many on the Citadel.

I must point out that whilst this frustrated mood did trickle down through their respective societies, to a point, for the _vast_ majority of turians and volus, it was simply an awkward disagreement for the politicos to handle; personal relations were generally solid, and it is not in the nature of either species to burn personal relationships without exhausting every possible option for reconciliation. Even today, in the aftermath of the split between the Vol Protectorate and the Turian Hierarchy, most birds and wobblies still get along just fine, treating the entire affair as a family squabble that will be resolved in time.

Despite the many great differences volus have with the various other sapient races of the galaxy, in modern times they have always functioned as traders, communicators, and facilitators. They're the street market that serves as a binding agent for much of galactic life, crossing boundaries, hooking up supply and demand, and making sure that no matter what happens, there's always a line of communication open. The volus are always willing to do business with aliens. Asari, salarian, turian, elcor, human, quarian, batarian, almost everyone in the Traverse, even vorcha in this day and age – they don't need to be _friends_ with them, of course, but there's always at least one volus faction willing to talk. This is both a matter of practicality and also idealism for the wobblies, strange though it may seem, since they're of the opinion that disputes are best mitigated through mutually beneficial dealings and continuous communication.

This has certainly paid off, and in modern times the Vol Protectorate maintains strong ties with the quarians, the elcor, and, of course, us… which makes them useful to the major players, since the asari will always come to them for diplomatic leverage and the salarians will do the same for intelligence access. _(Addendum: The volus even boast of ties to Kahje, since wobbly merchants dominate the scarf trade with the hanar. The fact that selling fabulous scarves is literally a matter of galactic statecraft is driving me to drink even more. -Tiffany)_

Which brings us neatly to the volus present and future. Whilst nothing is guaranteed in this galaxy, we can make a few educated conclusions.

The mysteries of the volus past are, I suspect, not as relevant to their present as the case is for most other Citadel races. We may never know the truth about the Shrouded Divine, about the secrets of the Cloudseekers and Depthwalkers, about why the Book and Path of Plenix are the only religion the wobblies have ever known, about the shadowy infighting between their various metaphysical-philosophical factions over the millennia, or a dozen other mysteries. What I can say for a fact is that the volus are not fundamentally scarred by these experiences in the same way the Citadel races have been by theirs, even to this day. The volus walk a strange path, but, like the elcor, you can at least say that the path is truly theirs.

Do _not_ fool yourself by buying into the current turian-volus divide. They retain extremely close ties with one another, and the current squabble is more political than existential. Both species are fairly dismissive of political disagreements in the face of objective conditions, and both place a great deal of importance on loyalty (after a fashion) and in maintaining personal relationships. When everything in this galaxy goes to shit, the wobblies and birds will have each other's backs.

I expect the Vol Protectorate, and especially the VDF, to take a stronger hand in galactic events in the future. This is most obvious in their Vorcha Uplift Initiative, but as you'll see in later sections, they are considering much more aggressive force postures and strategies than they normally do. Expect the Volus Defence Force to very quickly become more than auxiliaries, and expect the Vol Protectorate to take a more aggressive position in defending volus interests in third-party space. They will be smooth, and they will be subtle, compared to most other actors.

The wobblies will seek to hedge their bets and form as many relationships, alliances, and marriages of convenience as they can, to a point, in order to maximise potential market access, ensure open lines of communication, and to ensure that every major player has an incentive to keep Irune on their side. They'll keep these as quiet or obvious as need be, they'll use cutouts and proxies if necessary, and obviously won't court minor powers at the expense of relations with major ones. We're already starting to see this on Noveria, Ilium, the wildcats, and the Traverse, but they're steadily getting closer to the quarians and elcor.

In all of these matters, the volus will offer explanations tailored to their audience. They'll tell the turians that Irune wishes to be in a better position to honour their collective security obligations and uphold their duties. They'll tell the asari that they're facilitating galactic cooperation and harmony. They'll tell the salarians that they're always happy to do business and would serve as an excellent foil to the other players. And the High Lords? They'll appeal to their insecurity and need for control.

-Dr. Tiffany Minsta


	4. Chapter 4 : Intermission I

**A/N:** _As is probably apparent, the expected update schedule has slipped a bit. In the meantime, I'm putting out pieces of various subfiles. This is **Jacob's** work mostly, although I did much of the Rasa dialogue and **Burnsidhe** did some polish._

* * *

 **The Cerberus Files : Secondary Races**

* * *

 **Intermission: Now You See Me**

Tiffany rolled her eyes in the way every daughter does when brushing off her father's silly worries, smiling at the grainy image of Galen through the vidscreen. The smooth lines of her ship surrounded her, soft black paneling set off here and there with spars of ironwood and durasteel, the giant cockpit windows framing the darkness of space beyond and the towering mass of the volus space station in orbit.

She did manage to keep any exasperation of her voice as she answered. "I'll be fine, father. I'm not camping on Parnack. This is the Grand Salon of Vol-Prime. It makes the Citadel Presidium look like an abandoned GS-Mart. The volus are hardly dangerous, after all, and they hire expensive security forces to keep the peace."

Galen Minsta smiled and decided to indulge her. _"I'll not bother engaging in a discussion of the quality of volus mercenaries, but your point is taken. 'Abandoned GS-Mart' describes half of Arcturus Station these days. Apparently, they'll let_ anyone _in."_

He was rewarded with a giggle. The sound still brightened his soul like the morning sun every time he heard it.

"Well, Arcturus has been going downhill for some time, given they let the von Graths run the thing. And for that stupidity, I place most of the blame on the Colemans, obviously, but also the Eldfells, because why not?" said Tiffany.

 _"You know Reginald would only allow poors aboard so he can hunt them for sport,"_ said Galen, before turning serious. He had a duty, after all. _"Still, do_ not _drop your guard, even in a locale as seemingly safe and luxurious as Vol-Prime. Whilst there would be a certain gauche loss of face if you were harmed on the station, you cannot depend on volus security – or your own guards – to stop every possible hostility."_

"Our Family status—" She was cut off by a firm look from her father.

 _"Will protect you,_ to a degree _."_ Galen leaned back in his chair, the designer frame conforming to his movements, and folded his arms across the cashmere lapels of his coat. _"It's also a target in certain quarters. Do not forget that Vol-Prime is a clearinghouse for many different alien businesses and interests, some of them rather malevolent. Then there's the matter of… our benefactor… who comes with his own matching set of enemies. It is not beyond the realm of possibility they have connected House Minsta to him – in which case your life is in danger."_

He paused, then gave a rueful smile. _"And I am not being paranoid. I thought I was safe at Waypoint before the damned Nightwind showed up. My point is that you should be vigilant. By all means enjoy yourself, but listen to your security detachment and learn what you can from them."_

"I will, father. On the subject, did our friend mention who he'd be sending to work with me?"

A strange look crossed Galen's face for a moment before vanishing. _"I… no, I don't have any firm idea. It will be one of his more senior operatives, I know that much, and you should prepare for the unexpected."_

"How… curious. You're usually not so circumspect. Is there a reason why?"

Galen shrugged. _"Why the identity has been kept from me? It is of no moment. Our benefactor has to deal with a limited set of chess pieces, my dear. None of these people should be trifled with – they are dangerous, and in more ways than the merely physical. Again, an experience you can learn from."_

"Yes, yes. I'll just have to deal with what happens. And in preparation, I should have time for a quick shower and a light meal before they arrive. Anything you'd recommend on the drinks menu?" she said with a lopsided grin.

 _"As a matter of fact, there is,"_ said Galen, perking up, _"I forget the name – probably couldn't pronounce it anyway – but there's a volus liqueur that they make from a bi-chiral fermented fungal cloud in the oxygen deserts. Something with a 'v,' I think."_

Tiffany made a retching noise. "…A fungal cloud? Are you literally taking the piss?"

 _"That was the translated description from the restaurant menu, I swear. I haven't actually studied it myself. Perhaps skip the volus drinks altogether, my dear, until you're sure that they won't kill you. I can't have you dying without producing a male heir,"_ said Galen, his voice droll.

"You beast. I'll have you know that Pavel Himura asked me to visit a wobbly art exhibit on the Citadel once I return from this little jaunt," said Tiffany, as she examined her nails, "He thinks this is a real research trip and that I'd be interested. It's adorable. I think I might even go."

 _"Hmph. Well. I suppose a princeling of the Cadet Branch of the Yamato Family isn't a bad showing. They're no Eldfells, so I can't complain."_

"Look at you with your calm acceptance."

 _"Oh, I never said I approve or that he's passed inspection. I merely am not fool enough to think you will actually bow to my wishes in who – and when – you decide to indulge in romance or matchmaking,"_ Galen said, still smiling, before swirling his glass, _"Although, now that I think of it, such a match would give us clear ties to the Dragunovs and the Japanese Emperor – and thus, indirectly, the Silver Prince himself."_

Now it was Tiffany's turn to fold her arms. "Mm. Nothing says romance like being traded around like a Habsburg princess."

Her father's silver eyebrow merely arched. _"It could be worse, you could be Helga Manswell."_ He grinned at the distasteful grimace on his daughter's features and chuckled. _"Fine, I'll stop. Part of me wonders if this is one of the grand Houses fishing for information on us. Still, this is so much easier than your university days. At least now I can ask our benefactor to sic the Odd Couple onto anyone who makes you cry."_

"Well I have a shock gauntlet for that now," said Tiffany.

 _"Indeed you do."_ Galen finished his glass. _"You'd best get ready, my dear. But before you go – when do you plan to visit the Archive of All Under Heaven?"_

"Next week, and I'm very, very excited. The happiest academic in the world," she said, her face lighting up.

 _"It's an exceptionally rare opportunity. I really do envy you. Very few humans have ever set foot in there, and none have met the Seeker. For that matter, no one even knows who or_ what _the Seeker is. You'll be perfectly placed to gather the information that our organisation needs. Still… I find it curious that they were so open in the first place."_

"So I am, to be honest with you. They've accepted three previous human academic delegations, but those were fully sponsored by a House of the First Rank and led by some of our top researchers. The Minsta Family carries some clout, but not _that_ much clout. Obviously they have an agenda here."

Galen raised an eyebrow. _"Of course they do. Keep your wits about you and find out what it is."_

She nodded. "I'll call you again next week, same time, unless you message otherwise."

 _"Excellent. Take care, my dear, I love you, all that jazz,"_ said Galen, trying not to show too much emotion and failing the moment the words left his mouth. He knew, intellectually, that Vol-Prime was no more dangerous than anywhere else in Citadel Space, but she was all he had left, and he couldn't help it.

"You too," she said, smiling, and disconnected the call.

She stood up, taking a moment to run over the communications security checklist in her head, before disconnecting all inputs and powering the TTL unit down, physically isolating it and ensuring it was stored securely in a Faraday bag.

Satisfied, she began to undress and padded over to the en suite bathroom, tweaking the shower program to her preferred settings. Tedious, but necessary – she'd disabled the in-room VI the moment she arrived, and her Centurions still swept their rooms for spyware at random intervals several times a day.

Her Centurion Sergeant was ever so fussy, but as her father had drilled into her head, better safe than sorry.

The bathroom door slid closed and the glass frosted over, the effect like ice over clear water.

She stepped into the shower and sighed in relief as the steam moved over her body and she worked the water through her hair, the sensation warm and soothing. Orange and cedar and honeysuckle notes perfumed the room as she began soaping the pumice stone.

 _Sheer. Bliss. So much bliss. All of the bliss._

After fifteen minutes she was done. She thought of staying a little longer, but, she noted sourly, she hadn't quite remembered to pack everything. While most of her clothing was done, her personal effects and equipment remained strewn about the ship.

 _Weapons and research gear are probably a higher priority. Probably._

She stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel – some kind of hybrid Vegan high-g cotton, she noted with approval – and wrapped it around her body before doing a quick check in front of the mirror.

 _Rather good, all in all. Not like the wobblies are going to notice, but they'd think it out of character if I didn't seem preoccupied with my appearance._

 _My tradecraft isn't as bad as the others think. Just watch me get better._

Satisfied, she turned and reached for the bathroom door control.

The door defrosted, clear again, and there was another woman standing on the other side, a smirk on her face.

Tiffany screamed, but the glass was still closed and no one outside could hear anything.

The woman's smirk remained in place as she raised a single finger to her lips, making a shushing motion, and it was then that Tiffany noticed the woman's Cerberus uniform.

Her hand trembled as she opened the door.

Her heart was still thrashing in her chest and her stomach was roiling acid, but it was then that she started to notice certain details.

The Cerberus uniform with the nano-weave overlay, heavily customized, but almost certainly a Phantom skinsuit used by their infiltrators. There was a single gold stripe at the neck, overlain with a blood-red bar – the rank marking of a Senior Agent.

The fact that no physical or electronic alarms had been triggered and that her Centurions were not in the room meant somehow this person had gotten past a million credits' worth of security equipment. Given that her Sergeant had strict orders not to let anyone on board, they had been bypassed as well.

Then the actual image of the woman hit her.

The smooth olive skin covering lithe muscle and a tall, athletic frame, both too perfect and too symmetrical – clearly altered by bionetics. Reddish-brown hair the color of dried blood, and then that _face_ , that face that was not a face, but a Face, a thing that spoke volumes without having to say anything at all.

It was an icy façade of both aloof unconcern shielding an almost amused malevolence, a face that hundreds of doomed souls had been bewitched by and finally lost in. A face her father had repeatedly, strongly, and emphatically warned her about and against as surely the most lethal of all of Harper's chained hounds.

It was then that Tiffany knew who had been sent to work with her. She tried to swallow her fear and speak but her voice was still shaky and disturbed. "You're—"

"Utterance of the obvious is not a strength."

The woman's voice was at once the most remarkable and unremarkable thing Tiffany had ever heard. It was perfectly nondescript and yet perfectly controlled, as if the pitch and rhythm and tone could all be calculated and deployed for maximum effect. It was a voice that could be anything to anyone if its owner wished it to be. It was a voice that promised riches and ruin. It was a voice that could change your whole life or convince you to end it.

It was not a voice, but a Voice, and it came not from a face, but a Face, and it was owned not by a woman, but an Unwoman.

They were still standing in the bathroom doorway. The other woman calmly glanced over her form before the eyes came up to meet hers again, in judgment and dismissal.

That put a touch of anger in her spine, and she found herself straightening. "You have quite the reputation in certain circles," said Tiffany, her voice as even as she could manage. She felt quite proud of that, given the circumstances.

 _If I can get to my rifle, good, my shock gauntlet, even better. Slip in the eezo hotshot and we'll see how you enjoy a quarter of a million volts, you creepy little cunt._

"Reputation is merely rumor mixed with expectation. Deal with facts. Your security is incompetent, your defenses nonexistent."

"Sergeant Ehud and his Centurions—"

"Received a private TTL from your omni-tool, ten minutes ago, notifying them that you would be on a critical vidcall with Minuteman for the next two hours, and were not to be disturbed. Very sloppy. I was able to determine your freqs and monitor their comms. Operational note: if you're going to be isolated, your Centurions are useless if they're outside the ship."

The eyes narrowed. "Your comms security was… adequate. I actually had to make an effort, so points there. I'm here to assess. Since your guards are useless at protecting you, at least they can make sure no one interrupts us."

Tiffany found her mouth going dry. "Interrupt us… doing what?"

The lips twisted into a smile that was on the edge of mockery. "I am to _assess_ you. I cannot do that until I can place you. So, we're going to talk. You can tell your story, and I can decide how to proceed."

"I'm not sure that my _story_ , whatever that might be, would be of very much interest to you." She raised her voice. "And, with all due respect, just what the fuck were you thinking, standing outside my shower?"

The Face still had a smirk on it, and now the Voice had decided to be amused. "You're trying to buy time. Standard coercive training. Your father is, sadly, very predictable."

"Excuse me? I'm—"

"You are powerless, with a towel. Your guards are not here and, knowing what I expect you do of me, you are fully aware a poor showing at this juncture may result in an _accident_ _._ " The Voice took on the barest edge of amusement. "So, you're acting outraged, hoping I'll back off, or that your Sergeant will come into investigate, or that I'll let you out of this area so you can grab that pathetic batarian shock gauntlet."

Tiffany gritted her teeth as Rasa stepped closer until they were only a few centimeters apart and Tiffany looked up into gray eyes that never left hers. She could smell her own nervous sweat mixed in with the perfumed orange and cedar notes of her shampoo and also…

Nothing. There was nothing, and then she realized, too late, that the creature in front of her had no scent.

There was emptiness where a person should be.

Rasa spoke again. "That is not how this is going to proceed. You are here to tell me why you aren't a liability"

"If you wanted to kill me I'd already be dead." Tiffany marveled at how steady her voice sounded.

Rasa gave a slight nod, her voice matter-of-fact, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "Yes."

"This implies you're either here on legitimate orders from our employer… or you have an entirely different agenda."

"Agenda? Words, little girl. Any fool can have words. What matters is why you choose that word, and what's behind and between the words. The story, so to speak. I am here because of your decisions, and that of your father. What happens next depends not on the what of your words, but the _why_."

Tiffany tried to swallow but her nerves got caught in her throat. "That reputation of yours comes loaded with certain assumptions. You're broken and there's no going back, even if you wanted to. You use people. You prey on people. No one knows if you even enjoy it or if it just feels like breathing to—"

"You're such an eloquent babbler. It's a very pretty skill. Useless, though, outside of perhaps a cocktail party. Answer the question."

"You didn't ask a question."

"Ah, well, you asked me why I am here. You don't see that my answer is a question, I suppose. Shock, maybe. Another negative."

Tiffany's mind raced. "You're here to figure out how to use me." A second later, she shuddered at the context of her own words.

Rasa, however, merely smiled thinly. "How _I_ would use you? Wrong. My needs are separate from your needs, which you confuse with your wants and blur with your fears. The real question is what possible use could you have? To _Cerberus_?"

Tiffany's hands were cold now from the sweat, and she pulled tighter around the bath towel as she looked down.

"Oh, no. No, no, no. Your body? Don't be so _obvious_ , princess." Rasa's voice was bored, disappointed even, and some part of Tiffany, that she couldn't understand, hated even the thought of disappointing this creature, and then hated the fact that she felt that in the first place.

"Pardon me, but you really are known for your tastes and how you like to do most of your killing. Again, your reputation precedes you," said Tiffany, her voice bitter now that she was running out of ideas.

"Now we're getting closer to the tale you wanted to tell. Although it is highly amusing you are somehow offended that I have no need for your… purported charms." The head tilted at an angle, the eyes bright, and Tiffany shuddered again.

 _She even cocks her head like a fucking dog._

"Well, not offended – I suppose I'm not your type. Too blonde, too pale, too sane? Not enough rape? Oh, wait, too old."

A second later her mind began to gibber. _Whythefuckwouldyousaythattohernowshe'llkillyouslowlyprobablyfingeringherselfthewholefuckingtime?!_

Rasa's expression was flat. "Discussing me – or my tastes – isn't helping you. My choices and decisions are my story – yours remains untold." She leaned almost casually against the wall. "You're an empty-headed party girl with no skills, too self-absorbed to realize you've already been locked up by an STG cell on-station who, even now, are moving towards your ship."

The voice grew more amused. "Your Sergeant advised you to not hard-dock to the station, but you ignored that because you wanted to sleep with young Pavel. Instead of making sure your sit-rep was secure, you thought your Name would keep away any riffraff."

The eyes bored into hers. "Cerberus does not have time for self-centered children who cannot adjust to reality. That makes you a liability"

Tiffany's voice was sardonic and waspish. "Yes, of course. Because clearly all Cerberus needs to be successful is a pack of murderers so broken that they can't even experience the humanity that they're supposed to protect. One day humanity can be just as well-adjusted as you are!"

She found her voice almost cracking, but finished nonetheless. "You don't have any right to assess me. I'm not trying to be a killer. I don't get off on manipulating people. _I aim for long-term results._ I'm operating in an arena you, and your daughter-girl-pet-victim, can't. Because you're fucking crazy, and you think jumping me getting out of the shower is somehow impressive."

Rasa quirked her lips. "And that gives you value?"

"Bitch, please. You Operatives take yourselves so seriously, don't you? Our employer can find a hundred burnt-out killers like you, he can't find nobles of the Lords of Sol willing to enhance his goals. Or are you really going to say you and Brooks are more valuable in the long-run than my father and me? Because I don't know how to roll with the fucking STG? When Ezno himself said this would be safe?"

She exhaled, and pointed. "Get the fuck off my ship."

Rasa made a tsking noise, and then they were both against the wall and she had a hand around the back of Tiffany's head and a knife at the girl's throat.

"And if I don't, what will you do? I am here because no one else felt you were worth the time. Some of them don't feel your father is. Cerberus won't succeed through acting in the open, through being normal. The forces we face are beyond the ability of your pitiful skill to destroy or even reveal."

The knife was icy cold, the tip tracing around her throat in a line, caressing. Rasa inhaled, smiling wider. "This feeling… dancing on the edge of the grave? Embrace it. If you cannot you are going to die, and we might as well not even start how that story goes."

Tiffany found herself shaking, but kept her voice as firm as she could. "Humanity needs a voice it can trust. That voice has to be beyond doubt and beyond lunacy. If Cerberus is endangered by that, then so is humanity, and if I'm a danger to that then I might as well die."

"But if you're going to kill me, you demented cunt, stop fucking around acting like a turian and just do it." She closed her eyes, waiting.

And then Rasa started giggling.

"And here I thought you'd be this pretty soft thing, no spine and no story." She let her go, smiling as Tiffany's knees shook as she lurched forward and threw up in the bin beside the sink.

"Stories need characters, and characters need details," said Rasa, having stepped smoothly out the way. She cocked her head to the other side. "You're arrogant, narcissistic, and utterly blind to both your privileges and any person or concept you feel is beneath you—"

She was interrupted by the sound of more dry-retching from the bin, and flashed a look of amused distaste before continuing.

"—but you are _technically_ correct. You are fundamentally well-adjusted in a way that most of the Dog's litter are not, mommy issues notwithstanding. More importantly, you're mentally flexible enough that our employer sees value in keeping you around, and in saddling me with you. Frankly, I think it amuses him."

Rasa took a few steps back and sat down on the bed, still contemplative. Tiffany staggered and braced herself up against the bedroom wall, breathing heavily, her eyes bloodshot, a strand of watery vomit still on her lip.

Rasa paused for a moment before she spoke. "I can work with this, though you require… changes. But you have a spine, that is… unexpected. Useful, even."

She tapped her comm-link. "Mother to Lost Boys. Target secure. Incoming shipment of gray cloth has been rejected, please handle it without disturbing customs."

A gritty and hard voice on the other end answered. _"Affirmative. Ah, the customs team at the ship is just fucking off – should we commandeer them and make them help?"_

Rasa smirked. "No. Let Big Papa deal with disciplining them. Mother out." She clicked off. "Clean yourself up and get packed. You have a lot of work to do alongside your research. And unless you know any decent martial arts, I'd ditch the shock gauntlet – a good hacker will route the charge through you from a distance."

With a smooth motion the assassin rose and walked through the doorway. Tiffany lurched over to the inline dresser and took a deep breath. After several seconds, she let the shakes run over her and grimaced. "Peaceful trip to the station, right? Last time I don't listen to you, dad."

* * *

 **Message Header: HELNET BEGIN ENCRYPTION STRING**

 **NEGOTIATING ARBITRAGE HEADERS…CLEAR**

 **SYSFILL 8851241-SUB-TWO:** _Cross check complete_

 **SUCCUBUS-THREE-THREE :: RASA-33**

 **CREATING HANDSHAKE…ACKNOWLEDGMENT HANDSHAKE ACCEPTED**

 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: RASA**

Mr. Harper,

I've made contact. My concerns as noted still apply. An STG field team picked up an unsecured transmission from one Pavel Himura to a friend about a visit from Tiffany and was moving in upon my arrival. They have been quietly neutralized. _(Addendum: It is amazing what services you can buy from the volus security managers. Corpse incineration for a thousand credits. The volus may prove more interesting than I thought. -Rasa)_

She at least has more spine and grit than her father, but that is coupled with an almost alarming lack of anger control. We'll need to work on that.

Please inform Mr. Ezno the assigned security unit didn't perform up to specification. I've deployed a unit of the Lost Boys as my backstop. (As an aside, is Shepard going to be read in on that little project?)

If all goes well, I believe the girl will start putting together notes on volus psychology shortly. I will keep in touch. Tell Dr. Minsta his daughter is fine, and I will deal with any… external threats.

-Rasa


	5. Chapter 5 : Volus Physiology

**A/N:** _This chapter would not have been possible without the contributions of **Seras** , **Sevoris** , and **Ventrix**. In particular, **Sevoris** contributed most of the heavy lifting and at least half the writing – you should check out his stories on Spacebattles._

 _Inorganic chemists, xenobiologists and people with a grasp of sulfur chemistry, please do not stab me._

* * *

 **The Cerberus Files : Secondary Races**

* * *

 **Message Header: HELNET BEGIN ENCRYPTION STRING**

 **NEGOTIATING ARBITRAGE HEADERS…CLEAR**

 **SYSFILL 393920-ADD-NINE:** _Cross check complete_

 **DAEDALUS-SEVEN-NINE-TWO :: MINSTA-792**

 **CREATING HANDSHAKE…ACKNOWLEDGMENT HANDSHAKE ACCEPTED**

 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: MINSTA**

* * *

Sir,

I'm sure you have already gotten a report from Rasa as to her interactions with my daughter. For the moment, I have said nothing other than she should be cautious.

Rasa herself contacted me yesterday to inform me that any kind of fieldwork to investigate volus biology was likely to be, ah, vigorously dangerous at best. In light of that and the fact that I see no reason to antagonize the VDF (or Shepard, for that matter) with blatant murder on their very doorstep, I've had Mr. Ezno use some of his cutouts to acquire a few recently killed volus in the Traverse.

I combined that with extensive extranet browsing and having made a few calls to a xenologist I know, Dr. Seras de la Espinoza-Martinez (of the House of Espinoza-Martinez). I've combined this with asking careful questions to several volus I know, as well as drawing various inferences.

I am aware this file was to be constructed by my daughter, but… the gross sectional dissection alone made it clear to me that I'd have to write this up myself. The volus have always been extremely secretive about their physiology, sexuality, and even bodily functions, and now I see why.

I was hoping that maybe at least one race out there was not bio-hacked or engineered, but there is no way this mess of a lifeform evolved _naturally_ , Mr. Harper. It would be akin to your laundry detergent deciding it needed to be about the town and teaming up with the starch and coat hangers to make a body.

Tiffany has a good grounding in bioscience, but this is far beyond what entry-level or even graduate-level xenobiology covers. The understanding that the STG devotes more resources to the volus than they do the SA or even the Turian Hierarchy was a shock until now. Given what I've learned, we may need to readjust our own assets.

We are dealing with a truly alien lifeform, Mr. Harper, and I think the volus have been playing everyone around them for fools, for centuries.

-Dr. Galen Minsta

 **Cerberus Thought of the Day:** _The value of ambush is not in surprise, but in preventing accurate preparations._

* * *

 **Volus Basic Biological Functions**

Before we even get to the volus themselves, I'm afraid I'm going to have to go over the basis of life on Irune. I hope you retained some mastery of inorganic chemistry and a stiff drink or two.

Irune is one of the most savagely inhospitable planets in the galaxy.

I have no idea how life could have ever gotten started in the seas of half-frozen ammonia and spraying geysers of sulfur, fluorine, and the good God only knows what else. I need not even cover the crushing atmospheric pressure or the terrible storms that make an armada storm look like a water sprinkler – one such storm in the southern hemisphere is over three thousand kilometers across and has been raging for seven hundred years.

Toss out all the organic chemistry you know – fats, carbolites, even most of the amino acids we know. All life on Irune is a bastardized hybrid of opportunistic fungus, mats of crystalline magnesium coral analogues, and plantlike clusters of metastable microcapillary mosses of some kind. Clean definitions of plants and animals is blurred into inconsequentiality. As there is no oxygen on Irune to speak of (outside of the so-called 'oxygen deserts'), no lifeforms there 'breathe' the way we do – they bind and utilize various sulfur salt compounds and produce methyls as a waste product, but energy is still mostly derived from food.

Forget cells, tissues, organs, plants, and animals as you see it on Earth, or on Thessia and Palaven and every other sane place of this universe. The basis of all Irune life is strange cells full of exotic XNA fragments with at least ten base pairs, with something akin to a cell wall (with semi-ceramic instead of cellulose composition) in thinner layers, surrounding protoplasmic subcellular structures that carry instruction sets from one type of subsystem to another. There is no nucleus – XNA fragments are strewn throughout the cell and are referenced by still other subcellular 'builder' segments.

These basic cells interlink in cellular clusters that are somewhat akin to fungi (fibrous), coral (cells embedded within extruded material), and mosses (thick clusters of cells). These clusters are full of one singular, generalist cell line – logically, they seem to represent the origin of Irune's biosphere.

At their most advanced shape, dozens to hundreds of different cell lines aggregate into a single organism, the closest to what we would call an animal or a plant or a ' _planimal_ ' – interlinked, specialized clusters of cells around frameworks of coral-like magnesium bones created by the same organism family that filters the blood of Irunian life.

All of this apparently evolved out of a vicious battle of both microbiological cell lines and macrobiological organisms, pushing them to greater and greater symbiosis and genetic interconnectivity until the point they became effectively one, even able to differentiate into each other. The process is eerily similar to how mitochondria entered the cells of Earth's eukaryotes, but this surpasses anything seen in our own evolutionary history.

This _insanity_ of an improbable evolutionary history is topped by how the cells themselves work. Seras and I broke our heads over the XNA fragments inside the cell plasma and molecular machinery surrounding them for days, but the conclusion is clear – every volus cell is a fully functional genetic computer.

They can 'think' and 'remember,' for lack of any better words. All of the other logically superfluous XNA is a fully functional record of the cell lines previous genotype and phenotype history, as well as genotypes cannibalized from other organisms – all stored together, selectable at will, and some of the encoded data can only be computational memory for data other than protein expressions. There's no other reason for two separate sets of base pairs in these XNA brains.

Topping it all off is how the cells interlink: there are pretty 'conventional' biopolymer interlinks of cells, but due to the aggressive nature of warfare between Irune cells, an organism apparently identifies each other's cells not with classical key sites, but an active cryptographic XNA exchange. The links can apparently be created and broken at will – it's the only explanation for their internal structure and the XNA-protein machinery below the cell membranes. I explain this fact by the aggressive, cannibalistic, and subversive nature with which hostile cell lines attack each other – a simple surface marker system would be far too easy to subvert.

A small mercy at least: Irune's ambulatory life has evolved a nervous system similar to our own, with specialized neuron cells. The only craziness is how the entire peripheral nervous system is made up of an ultra-dense, fungus-like network of salty electroconductive fluid capillaries.

Various animal life on Irune packages this mess into various shapes, none of which are particularly rigidly held to. Traditional prey-predator relationships are also warped, based on not only if a predator can bring down prey, but if its subcomponent lifeforms can assimilate the prey's cell clusters and genotypes successfully.

* * *

 **Volus Basic Biology**

Having covered all of the above, I can now at least detail out what I've found.

In their natural state, volus are semi-humanoid figures that stand roughly one and a half meters tall. Unlike the suits they wear, while they are certainly 'stocky' – with broad chests, thick legs, and heavy shoulders – they are not fat. (As an aside, fats can't exist in this biochemistry.) Most of them weigh in excess of one hundred eighty kilos, with some VDF coming in at well over two hundred kilos.

The body shape of the volus is actually somewhat turian – the legs bend backwards from the knee, while the arms have the same arc of motion that a turian does. The overall gait is mostly similar to our own, however, as the hip array is very similar, although more slanted, and they have excellent and flexible articulation.

There is considerable evidence in the autopsied remains to suggest they can reshape their body configuration, perhaps at will. Perhaps they used another and adopted the turian one upon the turians' interactions with their planet. Some of the XNA sequences we found could be decoded into volus biotech corporation IP markers.

The volus 'main' lifeform is a magnesium/sulfate binding set of moss-like tissues integrated with a set of wide sacs that serve as the brain. This moss extrudes a set of heavy rod-like bones in a configurable shape made out of magnesium and several other trace elements to provide a scaffold for the other lifeforms that comprise a volus to build on. The skeletal structure uses tar-like 'balls' and a kind of non-keratin gristle analogue for joints and these can be rearranged with little to no pain by the volus.

As such, they can't have dislocated joints. As an aside, it is fascinating to note the various substitutions for conventional substances the Irune ecosystem has made.

The musculature is a coral-like growth that expands from the chest area outwards, the muscles themselves a crystalline substance that is semi-liquid when electrified at various wattages. This means their muscles are similar to liquid crystal – they do not compress or tear and maintain their power regardless of physical activity.

The power of these contracting crystals is very similar to artificial myomer bundles in mechs and some cybernetic limbs. Combined with Irune's high gravity, this means volus are fearsomely strong - although the configuration of the skeleton is rarely set up to use this - they can deadlift enormous amounts of weight (well in excess of seven hundred kilograms in civilian cases, with some VDF members capable of lifting a literal metric tonne).

The 'muscles' are connected to the bones through thick, semi-flexible manganese 'struts' that are themselves overlain by the nervous channels. The nerves conduct both the electrical current to power the muscles as well as a hydraulic component for finer control of direction.

Keep in mind, the muscles can be 'locked' into solid position rapidly – and in that form, they are just about as hard as a good set of combat armor.

Respiration is something I'm still banging my head on after four hours – they inhale sulfur (or salt-like gaseous versions) and exhale something similar to methylsulfonylmethane as waste. The 'hissing' noise the volus tend to make in their suits is actually a recycler device that breaks this down into usable substances. Respiration is used only for additional energy – volus do not need to breathe as we do, and most of the time they use it to speak.

Digestive systems are paired groups of iron-binding, sulfate-binding, and ammonia-binding cultured fungal systems, which turns this and several other substances into a thick, heavy ichor that has more similarity to ethanol or methanol than anything else.

The volus 'mouth' is a funnel hidden behind strips of filtering moss that decontaminates what they eat. Volus skin is dark gray-green, cold to the touch, and with a hard, glistening sheen to it.

The immune system is a glandular set of organs, frond-like growths of tiny capillary structures dotted with receptors. Unlike organic immune systems, volus don't simply 'destroy' invading bio-organisms, but subdue and then incorporate them, either as food or to harvest 'improvements' in cell function.

* * *

 **Volus Senses**

The volus nervous system – a series of tubes filled with an electroconductive slurry of the kind of things you either see in whiskey or high-explosives – does not provide the volus with any kind of special or outrageous sensory abilities, at least.

Volus have two eyes, bulbous and set back into the thick skull. They see in a quadrant of colors, dark gray/bright silver and red/blue. The gray-vision is for visible and reflected light, red/blue appears to be functional infravision.

Volus hearing is done by a set of four shallow, lenticular membranes on the side of the head, which convert sound by use of fluid-filled vibration chambers lined with crystals. This allows volus to hear very fine differentials in sound, but also makes high-frequency resonant sounds capable of destroying their hearing.

Volus have a very weak sense of smell, usually limited to a sense of what is in the air. They cannot smell a rose, but _can_ describe what chemicals are in the air at the moment.

We know the most about volus taste as the volus are fond of eating, and have quite a few cooking shows and series on the extranet. Although volus food is not something we can partake of (or they of ours), and chemically cooking requires much different preparation, the volus sense of taste depends to be based on the same rough principles as our own – a mix of fungiform and circumvallate papillae that allow chemical binding to receptors to report a function.

As such, volus terms for taste do have some overlap with our own, such as 'salty' and 'bitter,' although the taste associated with sulfur would be closest to chocolate for us.

* * *

 **Volus Reactions, Strength, and Agility**

On Irune, from what I can determine, volus were pack-focused omnivores. Early prehistorical proto-clannu would have relied mostly on force of numbers to fend off opportunistic predators. Aside from the VDF (which I'll have to come back to at a later date), most volus are not a reactive species. They move slowly, as they are a low energy species with no burst power or oxygen-driven internal combustion to power their bodies.

On the other hand, due to the nature of their muscles, volus simply _do not become physically exhausted_. A volus could do a thirty-kilometer march without fatigue, although they would be much slower than a human.

Despite being prey, the volus body is incredibly strong in terms of physical power, and a volus in the gravity enjoyed by most other alien lifeforms is at a serious advantage. Everyone has assumed the titanic strength VDF soldiers employ was some kind of gene-mod, but it is not – those liquid crystal muscles are far more powerful than any organic analogue and are more efficient than even artificial myomer.

Volus are not agile, although they do demonstrate extremely fine muscle control in detail work, such as assembly of complex machinery. Some of this clumsiness is no doubt due to the gravity making keeping their muscles under control more difficult, but I believe the volus may use another body shape on the surface of Irune and 'reconfigure' themselves to adopt a more turian-like skeletal shape when dealing with aliens.

There are certain images on what volus artworks they display in their salons to indicate they used to (and perhaps still do) walk on four legs with an upper torso with arms, much like a mythological centaur would look.

* * *

 **Volus Vulnerabilities and Body Structure**

The volus 'being' is, as I said, an amalgam of various cooperative sub-organisms that have, over time, evolved (or were shaped, more likely) into a single metaorganism. There are a number of benefits to this method, the most important of which is the fact that the volus are what they want to be.

The volus body structure – the semi-crystalline muscles, the heavy rods of the skeleton, the matted moss and fungus-like pods of the body's organs – are all highly resistant to most forms of damage.

Radiation does almost nothing do them as the distributed XNA frags in the cells are not knocked askew by neutrons – they are assembled upon cell division only, and thus, anything malformed simply gets tossed aside. This may be due to a number of factors – most likely, it is a result of their evolved intercellular warfare. Their version of an immune system has so many fail-safes and high 'intelligence' in the form of XNA computing that radiation damage is simply not a factor until a point where radiation bombardment is generally terminal.

Impact and blunt trauma are absorbed with high efficiency by the musculature, which is itself braced and cushioned by gas-filled sacs at points where it overlaps the internal organ analogues. The volus don't have a 'heart' so much as a series of contraction pumps, and the blood vessels that carry the methanol ichor seal themselves when ruptured.

The bones are made of magnesium, laced with iron and, bizarrely, also trace amounts of titanium. Between the gravity, the thickness of the bone rods, and the tighter molecular bonds, they much harder than even krogan bone and provide additional protection to the brain and inner organs.

The outer skin is self-sealing as well as chemically resistant – most conventional poisons and the like will do nothing, even the most powerful nerve agents are ineffective, as they are trying to work on a chemical basis that simply doesn't exist. Electrical discharges ground out in the muscles, most melee weapons would shatter on the muscles, and while biotics will work on volus, things like throw and other invocations that use kinetic force will not do much damage.

Volus, having highly flammable blood and magnesium bones, are, however, extremely vulnerable to fire, plasma, and heat. Their skin is colonized by a type of moss that binds richterite fibers into the surface of the skin – richerite is related to the same group of substances as asbestos, and helps prevent them from combusting.

* * *

 **Volus Reproduction**

I have, over the years, had to dissect and analyze many alien forms. Most of these, despite having arisen on far distant worlds with alien biologies and chemistries, still relied on understandable methods of many biological functions.

The asari method aside, most life relies on recombination of genetic fragments, two sexes, and either live birth or eggs. Usually, fertilization is done with an insertion organ (phallus, penis, what have you) into the female. Usually, an embryonic being is created from a fertilized joint cell. Usually, Pel is able to make terrible and filthy jokes.

If my deductions about the volus are correct, this is nowhere even remotely close to how they reproduce.

The two cadavers I obtained were mostly intact, both having been dispatched by armor-piercing sabots directly to the head. As such, I can be fairly certain that they are not some kind of weird deviants or mutants, but are average volus.

All of the below is the… theory worked out by Dr. Seras, with addenda provided by me based on what I saw in my autopsies. Keep in mind this is very theoretical.

The volus do not have 'sex' as we understand it. When volus procreate, it is done via a male and female inducing their bodies to produce a thick, liquid-laden bolus of tissue wrapped in membranes of moss that protect it. The interior of the package is a mix of blood, various 'tags' of the XNA from all the subsystem lifeforms, and a 'core fragment' of the lifeform that produces the volus skeleton and nervous system.

The male implants both of these into a cavity in the lower torso, and his body wraps them in a fungal mat of nutrients for roughly a month. During this process, the two bolus begin to merge with one another.

Once the merging is complete, the combined package is removed and the female takes it into her own body, in a chamber similar to the males. This chamber hooks the combined package to her own nervous and digestive systems.

Over the next six months, the female's body breaks off a horde of XNA fragments and pieces of the various fungi, moss, and other sub-organs that make up a volus, all of which attach to the package. It begins to grow, combining everything into a single form. At the same time, bits of shaped methanol 'keys,' identical to what form in the volus brain, are pushed into the bolus.

Once the process is complete, she removes the now neonatal volus offspring and the two parents ensconce it in a custom-built framework. In ancient times they gutted an animal to do this; nowadays, I believe it is a technological crèche of some kind.

The package integrates all the various sub-organs and generates a series of both external magnesium shells as well as internal skeletal parts. Once all the integration is done, the outer shell is reabsorbed into the body and broken down, while the crystal muscles come 'online' and the volus child is now mobile and aware.

The entire process, from creating the bolus to the final child waking up and moving about, takes roughly eleven months. It's worth noting that each volus male and female can only hold one such package at a time.

I'm still at a loss as to how this process works fully, as the volus have categorically refused to discuss sexuality or reproduction and volus children are kept on Irune until they are fully physically mature. Given the deficit of hard data we have, the above is almost certainly missing many things, but it serves to give us a baseline.

There is no visible way to determine if a volus is 'pregnant,' and aside from a higher than normal food consumption, no tip-offs as to their status, either.

* * *

 **Volus Life Cycle**

Assuming our data is at least somewhat accurate, the volus life cycle is relatively simple. Volus begin life as little more than a pack of XNA and a bunch of samples of each of the various symbiotes that define what a volus is. These combine under the guidance of the mother's own body and then grow into a child.

Volus children are raised entirely upon Irune (it is illegal for volus to 'bud' elsewhere, it seems) and thus we have almost no data on this. It is expected, based on a few comments by the volus, that such children are raised by the clannu entire, although the mother and father contribute more than the rest. Such children are seen as investments and actually owe their mother and father for bringing them into existence.

Volus reach maturity at roughly sixteen years, and based on Citadel records seem to live for roughly a century before old age sets in. This is marked by the lack of response of the crystalline musculature, which will eventually harden into an inert substance, which is how volus 'naturally' die. When this is first noted, the volus will travel back to Irune and live in a communal 'clannu of the Age,' which provides medical care for old volus and, once they harden into a statue, move them to a place of honor.

As such, I've come to the horrifying realization that the volus 'statues' we see on Vol Prime Station are in fact volus corpses. This is more macabre than I expected.

* * *

 **Volus Disease and Disorders**

Oddly enough, the life on Irune is, as I said, highly integrated, with masses of life being little more than symbiotic packs of various plant matter or fungus. As such, the microbiota of Irune is also opportunistic and usually parasitic or symbiotic.

The volus have only a tiny handful of diseases, most of them related to malfunctions of the substructures of the body. In the event that the fungal life that acts as blood filtration units malfunctions, the volus will succumb to eventual sulfur poisoning. Skeletal malfunction can also occur, causing ruptured organs, blood vessels, or even crushing the brain.

Other than that, nothing from off Irune has the slightest effect on them. Most conventional poisons are harmless, none of the germs we know can even survive in the volus bloodstream, and anything that does is taken apart and absorbed.

It is also worth noting that volus do not have a cancer analogue, as the aggressive cell line verification and immune system identify, isolate, eject, or kill any malevolent intruder into the larger organism. At best, a malfunction spreads through one type of organ and stays contained, as the organism rapidly develops a kind of internal epidermal layer and suffocates the malevolent cell clusters.

* * *

 **Volus Body Modifications**

The volus have always been strong advocates of biomodification – genetic modding and the like. Considering what we discovered, this is unsurprising – biogenetic improvement of intracellular genotype and biochemistry, tissue aggregates, and organ and body structure are evolutionarily inherent to the entire Irune biosphere. Indeed, the volus biology should make augmentation child's play – genetic sequences can just be presented for assimilation (potentially combined with specific XNA sequences used to synthetically program the assimilation process), and augmenting tissues, organs, or limbs is as simple _as ripping cells out and setting their replacement_. The biology will do the rest.

(This also means volus are incredible easy to 'repair' – just introduce a cell culture and the macroorganism will assimilate it into itself. No wonder the volus are so blasé about medical triage.)

The volus are also fans of more overt modifications using biology, which has led to the VDF.

On the other hand, cybernetics baffles and horrifies the volus. No known volus have ever used conventional cybernetics.

Nanonic augmentation is something the volus are examining and testing now. In theory, using nanites on themselves could lead to them being able to bypass their low-energy origins, although there is traditional resistance among many volus about using things that aren't alive.

* * *

 **Conclusions**

There are three things I can suggest as takeaways from this information:

First, and most importantly, is that we still don't understand a great deal about the volus. The implications of their biology on their culture, their outlook on medicine, warfare, and a host of other fields is unknown. How exactly all of these sub-elements work together is even more of a blank – despite my best efforts, I suspect all of the above conjecture is simply that. They are incredibly complex and I have no doubts we are still missing many vital details.

Following on from this is the realization that volus have very few weaknesses and they can adapt to all of them, invalidating many forms of warfare. Most poisons, radiation, ion bombardment, viral attacks, and the like are all useless. Reports we have of volus being poisoned on their own ships by Saren's mercenaries during the Benezia Incident lets us know that adding relatively minor amounts of certain chemical compounds of pyridine can kill volus, but other than that they have no outstanding 'handle' for us to use.

Finally… I do not, for a moment, believe this race – or life on Irune in general – could have occurred naturally. There are eighty-seven known planets similar to Irune in mapped non-Terminus Space, and not a single one of them has any form of life, even single-cellular life, that is native. They are planets that no other race can use for anything, making volus expansion simple and easy, but we've found life in many ridiculous places. The fact it never arises on Irune-like worlds implies something created the volus.

For what, I cannot say.


	6. Chapter 6 : Volus Psychology

**A/N:** _This chapter was written almost entirely by **Jacob** , with minor edits from me._

* * *

 **The Cerberus Files : Secondary Races**

* * *

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 **CREATING HANDSHAKE…ACKNOWLEDGEMENT HANDSHAKE ACCEPTED**

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 **Welcome user HERA-ONE-SEVEN-FOUR**

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 _ **[Eyes only: Galen Minsta]**_

 _ **[Command accepted]**_

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H174: Did you know it was going to be her? (0712)

D792: Yes. (0712)

D792: I'm sorry, my dear. I can only imagine how she chose to introduce herself. (0712)

D792: It was not a decision I made lightly, and our employer considered it necessary to compartmentalise the operation, for security purposes if nothing else. I… did not wish to keep such a thing hidden from you. (0712)

D792: … (0738)

D792: Would you prefer to scream at me in-person, then? (0739)

H174: I'm not angry (0740)

D792: That line hasn't worked since you were five. (0740)

H174: I thought I was going to die is all (0740)

H174: It's just a difficult thing to suddenly have to process (0741)

H174: I thought she was going to rape me (0741)

H174: Or just kill me (0741)

H174: Or let the STG have me for a bit before killing all of us (0741)

H174: Or something else appalling (0741)

D792: I'm sorry. We can discuss this properly in-person, but know that I truly am sorry, my dear. Our benefactor believed it to be for the best to keep the operation compartmentalized, despite my reservations. (0743)

H174: Intellectually she is impressive but no more so than anyone else at this level (0746)

H174: Physically she is terrifying but that is also the result of echo-grade bionetics and Christ knows what else (0747)

H174: But psychologically she (0747)

H174: I (0747)

D792: I know. And please, don't underestimate her physicality or intellect. Even Kai Leng is… cautious around her. But she certainly has a presence. (0748)

H174: Like Satan decided to walk the earth (0749)

H174: Not even for enjoyment, but out of… something else (0749)

D792: She's as if a person was divided by zero. (0750)

H174: YES (0750)

D792: Tiffany (0752)

D792: If you listen to nothing else I say, then promise me you'll listen to this. (0752)

H174: Go on (0753)

D792: That woman may well work for our employer. She may be useful for our goals. She may ostensibly be on our side, but do not, ever, for even a moment, assume that she or anyone she associates with are anything but roaming predators. (0755)

D792: The Lost Boys are her creatures, do not allow them to be alone with you at any time. They are aptly named, and extremely dangerous. They have less morality than a salarian scientist and all the pity of a batarian. (0755)

D792: Do not trust them. Do not allow yourself to be alone with them. (0756)

D792: Do not allow yourself to rely too heavily upon them. (0756)

D792: Professional interaction is necessary, but do not engage with them as you would with other humans. This goes doubly for her. Rasa is an unperson that preys upon persons. Do you understand? (0757)

H174: Yes (0759)

H174: If I didn't then… I do now. And thank you. (0805)

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 **[HelNet Private Messaging Service]**

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 **HERA-ONE-SEVEN-FOUR: TIFFANY-174**

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 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: TIFFANY MINSTA**

Sir,

Volus psychology, like their physiology, is at once eerily familiar and utterly alien. Like their elcor allies, volus as a species are often overlooked in favour of the major players on the galactic stage. They lack the biotic power and exotic appeal of the blues, the martial splendour and collective might of the spikes, the brilliance and polymorphic nature of the greys, the horror and designated source of evil status of the squints, the sheer weirdness of the jellies, all that.

(Although, after reading my father's notes on their biology, I think they're weird enough.)

Even at the undergraduate-level, most human academic institutes favour the study of the Big Three species and the volus are treated as a business-related subset of turian studies. Only a handful of our elite universities (my alma mater included) offer dedicated courses on the little aliens, and those are all behavioral and business-related.

I cannot help but feel that this is a mistake on our parts. Humanity cannot afford to be cavalier and dismiss any alien species offhand simply because we don't think they're important enough to study, and Cerberus really has no excuse. It is only through rigorous and objective analysis that we can hope to understand the alien and defeat our enemies.

Which brings me to our current dilemma.

Volus, elcor, and yahg are all _extremely strange_ when compared to humans. They are more alien to us than any of the more mainstream Citadel species. Casual observers treat these differences as being no more distinct than the differences between human subcultures or personality types. I even had one semi-literate gimp in the SA tell me that, and I quote: "aliens are just people, sinners and saints" – unbelievable, I know, and no doubt it'll get him killed by aliens, but that's genuinely representative of how many humans think when they aren't buying into outright xenophobia.

My point is that Cerberus cannot afford this kind of groupthink. We cannot afford to be so delusional, and there are some unsettling conclusions here that must be discussed. Some of them are inferred whilst others are undeniable facts, but the alien nature of our research subjects has serious consequences.

For a start, why is it that most Citadel species have even the slightest common ground with us to begin with, as far as their psychology goes? On a related note, why do they share any physiological or psychological similarities _at all_? As my father mentioned in the asari files, anyone who believes this to be parallel evolution should be stripped of their degree. The contrast is too vivid – the quasi-alien nature of the asari, turians, salarians, quarians, batarians, and so on against the radically alien nature of the volus, elcor, hanar, yahg, and collectors.

Why is human joy, laughter, anger, and sadness _et al_ roughly comparable to that of an asari, or a turian, or a salarian? Yes, I'm aware that there's a great deal of cultural variation here, but the fact that enough common ground even exists to make a comparison in the first place – to the point where interspecies relationships, platonic or otherwise, are not just possible, but common – is simply astounding. Staggering. Miraculous.

Unbelievable, even.

Volus are very much aware of this. They are cannier than the Big Three suspect. The volus have deliberately chosen to make certain elements of their society and culture, even their psychology, deliberately more accessible to aliens… whilst shielding other aspects completely. Volus trade-cant is not their primary language, and it sure as hell isn't their most culturally significant one, but they deliberately created it and updated it over centuries in order to make market engagement and information transfer with aliens more efficient. The transfer is designed to be omnidirectional, which is no issue for the freewheeling nature of volus trade culture – that only makes it stronger – but it is designed to have more lasting effects on other aliens.

We need not even discuss their biology – my father's words about them being secretive about such things is not coincidental.

My studies here just raise even more questions. Why is the heart, the ancient core, of volus life and culture so radically different from the public image we so often see? Volus consciously use a completely different language when dealing with aliens. Volus trade-cant and Cloud-script are as different to each other as English is to Navajo or Cantonese, at best. They deliberately adjust their behaviour to be more smoothly relatable to aliens when interacting with them.

The concepts and experiences which define their understanding of the universe and shape their culture are radically different to ours, but they very carefully choose to edit these – at least publicly – in order to better relations with aliens who, more often than not, hold them in contempt. Why? Why bother? Why choose to do this? There's a dozen other anomalies like that, which you'll no doubt see over the course of my investigation.

There are no coincidences in this line of work.

There is a purpose and a goal behind this, but I do not have enough information at this point to draw any firm conclusions. Perhaps this will change after I visit the Archive of All Under Heaven. Perhaps not. Perhaps that is all the wobblies want us to see.

-Dr Tiffany Minsta

* * *

 **Volus Mindset and Basic Needs**

I'll be retaining my father's use of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs as an introductory framework for volus psychology. This is partly because it serves as an accessible introduction for human readers, illustrates just how different aliens are compared to humans, and allows for comparative analysis between alien species whose Cerberus workups make use of the same framework.

Having said that, it's admittedly difficult to shoehorn the oddest and most un-human alien species into a psychology framework developed by one man well over two hundred years ago. Some alien species have psychological processes and priorities that do not really align with our understanding of mental function and, likewise, aspects of our minds have no real equivalent to theirs. Hanar, for instance, don't have any need to earn or seek out belonging and acceptance from other hanar; it's taken for granted that all hanar look out for all other hanar and instinctively accept them as equals, and they do.

Or take batarians – they don't even have a _word_ for self-esteem and find human attempts to explain the concept hilarious; even the lowliest and most wretched batarian slave thinks of himself as the biggest swinging dick in the history of all life, here to kick your arse, fuck your wife, and take all your shit before swigging an ale and conquering the galaxy as he fist-bumps the Dark Gods.

Still, the rough framework will have to do. To recap: there are five basic needs and priorities that form the basis for human psychology and behavioural functioning; these needs build upon each other and are often represented as pyramid, though it is widely accepted that there is some degree of inter-complexity and feedback cycles between them, and they do not exist in a vacuum, independent of other psychological phenomena or human behaviour.

The needs, in order, are Physiological (food, water, shelter, and other basic survival requirements), Safety (one's physical security, financial security, good health, and other security and stability needs), Belonging and Love (emotional and physical intimacy, social acceptance and recognition, close friends and family, and other social and emotional needs), Esteem (the need to be respected and recognised as worthy, by the self and by others, for your accomplishments and qualities), and finally, Self-Actualisation (the drive and capacity to create great and lasting achievements, to create, and to reach one's fullest potential).

Obviously, this isn't the time or place for a tedious series of postgraduate lectures on psychology, but the point is that this is the basic motivational framework of the typical human mind, and that this framework can be used to compare to aliens and further our understanding of them.

Now, let's dive into the head of the typical volus.

This will sound insane to humans, but the first and most basic psychological need for volus is self-actualisation. In a human this would be delusional, worthy of psychiatric confinement and pity. In a volus, it makes a great deal of sense when you consider the context of their evolutionary and cultural development. Remember that volus believe that the purpose of life is to profit from it; that is, "to seek the bounty of life, to fill your cup and drink your fill, to pursue every endeavour with the entirety of your being and in the face of every trial and every wonder that this existence has to behold." _(Addendum: Whilst a tad flowery and written with a somewhat old-fashioned syntax, I have to admit that the Book of Plenix grows on you. -Tiffany)_

Consider also that volus hold that each individual has a social, moral, and spiritual duty to be a productive member of their clan and clannu (more on those in a later section), and that this productivity must be expressed in a practical matter, ideally, with clearly defined goals and plans to achieve them. Self-actualisation, to volus, is not the indulgent pseudo-intellectual luxury of lounging around and contemplating your navel – it is nothing more and nothing less than your individual capacity to build and to create, to provide and to protect, and to be a net contributor to everything from your own health and safety to the success of your clan and clannu to the well-being of all Vol-Clan.

Volus self-actualisation, then, is an intensely applied activity that is innately related to everything from their day-to-day survival needs to the greatest achievements of their entire species. To a volus, you have a duty to get up, right now, and do everything that's physically possible in order to achieve those goals and fulfil your obligations. Just as the salarians have an obsessive need to learn and protect what they've learned, turians have a paranoid need to protect themselves from threats, and asari an overwhelming need to belong and advance the goals of the group, think of volus self-actualisation as an extremely strong and articulated work instinct that operates at every level of volus society, from intimate personal thoughts, to their activities on the galactic stage.

Incidentally, this is also why most volus are so appreciative of those who would, at first glance, appear beneath them in terms of socioeconomic status; provided that you're skilled at whatever it is you do, and that you work to the best of your ability, then even the humblest clerk or labourer will earn himself a nod of respect and perhaps even admiration from the volus he passes on the street.

After self-actualisation is physiological/survival needs, followed by belonging, followed by security; they tend to feed into one another. Just as a turian instinctively knows that once security has been achieved the pack will collectively provide for survival needs for all its members, so too does a volus know that his individual productivity will ensure that survival needs are met, either directly or through barter and other indirect methods.

Unconsciously they all know that productive individual volus will shape market forces through their work and extract enough net energy to meet physiological requirements, which in turn provides stability, facilitates trade, and allows for the formation of clans and clannu, thus providing belonging. Once a volus belongs to a clan, can consider starting or joining a clannu, and is a net provider to volus society then security has been achieved.

Note that volus are less concerned with physical security and martial threats than, for instance, us or the turians. This is largely due to their evolutionary development. Volus are technically a prey species and Irune is, despite what you may have heard, an extremely dangerous place. It's not an outright deathworld like Parnack, but it would stack up well with Tuchanka, and is certainly more hostile than even post-Days of Iron Earth; the bizarre atmosphere and planetary conditions are savage for non-Irunean species and the biosphere contains some impressively deadly flora… fauna… things. Volus know that existence is inherently risky and that every investment carries the possibility of loss; they also know that their best chance of survival is collective action, which is best achieved through individual effort and best advanced by the free flow of trade, capital, ideas, and people. The subject may be material or semantic, the process is _always_ competitive, the expression of it is individual, but the ultimate result is communal. Hence, belonging guarantees security for volus. This is also why volus are so brilliant at perceiving and analysing risk – their entire existence depends on it, both in terms of their strange biology and their very survival.

You can't escape evolution.

Esteem is the final priority. Volus perspectives on the subject are _very_ different to ours in that their esteem has an entirely external and objective focus. It has nothing to do with the self! Much like salarians, volus see auto-assigning esteem as a mental illness – at best, it's unproductive, and at worst it is a symptom of a mind collapsing upon itself as it cannot deal with reality. Remember that volus society places an equal (and equally serious) emphasis on both the conception and execution of rights _and_ responsibilities, so your 'esteem' is merely an objective social accounting of how well you made use of your rights and upheld your responsibilities.

Indeed, the Path of Plenix holds that esteem can only be experienced after death, literally 'at the end of the Long Walk on this mortal path, in the light of Aru,' and that any accounting before then is merely you deceiving yourself. A psychologist cannot analyse themselves, and a judge cannot judge themselves in their own case, so why in the name of Aru would you think that you are qualified or even needed to judge your own value to society?

This thinking is why the entire concept of 'esteem' is so alien in volus society, and why it is typically only those who are already very highly placed in volus life who even consider the concept. The closest literal translation they have for the human concept of 'self-esteem' is probably 'deed-accounting.' This process occurs at a societal level, generally at the higher reaches of volus life, and _cannot_ be performed introspectively by a mentally healthy volus individual. In practise, this process is simply seen as objective recognition for great accomplishments that serve the individual, the clan and/or clannu, and perhaps even (at the highest reaches of their society) the Vol-Clan itself.

If you've put in the work and achieved success, then you deserve to be recognised and celebrated for it. The desire to work towards these objectives, and to see them accomplished, is thus the final tier of the volus needs hierarchy, to be set upon when all other requirements have been met.

* * *

 **Volus Clannu and Clans**

Clannu and clans are one of the few aspects of volus society that's thankfully easy for most humans to understand and relate to. Clannu are family units and clans are extended social units; both are at the core of volus civilisation and are hugely influential in their culture. As you no doubt saw in the history section, clans in particular have shaped the development of the entire species and are unique expressions of Irune itself. Clannu may be made up of a single mated pair of volus and a few children, or a vast extended family group covering several generations and several degrees of separation (marriage and blood ties, related families, et cetera), totalling thousands of people. The largest has over twenty-five thousand, but most fall somewhere in-between and have anywhere from a several dozen to several hundred members. Too small and you limit your options; too large and you dilute them.

Clans, on the other hand, are generally organised along professional, operational, historical, philosophical, spiritual, or geographical lines; there are tens of thousands of clans, and the largest, the Vol-Clan, technically includes every volus alive and who's ever lived. A typical clan will have several hundred thousand to a few million members, but there are a number of both very small and supermassive clans out there. Some of these are simply a matter of pragmatism in modern galactic life: there is, for example, a travel association clan run by the Vol Protectorate's Diplomatic Mission – it has over a billion members and serves as a single point of contact for all volus travellers in Citadel Space. Note that although a clan is not a clannu and a clannu is not a clan, many clans are often made up of clannu that have a great deal of history with the organisation and who may specialise in whatever field the clan is associated with, and the most powerful clannu are also clans in their own right.

There's obviously much more to it than that, but I cover them in more detail in the culture sections, seeing as they're primarily a cultural, social, and economic construct. As far as volus psychology goes, readers should remember that volus take their clan and clannu duties very seriously and that they place an enormous value upon these ties. It doesn't matter if the volus in question is a weak coward or a hardened killer – they're united by the fact that they would rather die than betray their clannu, and even the most disgraced of the Fallen would hesitate before renouncing his or her clan. Ultimately, in terms of their most basic psychological needs, almost all volus see their duty to clan and clannu as a direct extension of their own self-actualised interests: not only do these relationships maximise value creation and extraction, they foster belonging and thus enhance security. More religious volus would also argue that such duties have a clear theological basis in the various tenets of the Path of Plenix.

* * *

 **Volus Ethics and Morality**

Volus ethics are always direct, between a subject and an object, but this is merely a downstream function of metaphysical purpose and ethical calculus. Morality is literally quantifiable in wobbly culture. You can describe it through chalk equations on a blackboard. Astute readers will have picked up on just how intertwined this phenomenon has been throughout volus history, notably in the War of Assassins and the Vendetta of Five Jewels. You cannot separate volus ethics and morality from their societal structure, their economic system and political philosophy, or the Book of Plenix.

Volus see ethics and morality as questions of value.

I've already mentioned that the wobblies consider entropy to be the ultimate expression of evil, but they also view _any_ attempt to interfere with their ability to claim the bounty of life as a lesser expression of this same evil. It is a dark and primal instinct that must be resisted at all costs, since wilfully restricting the capacity of others to seek what bounty they would is a depraved violation of their body, mind, and anima.

As a matter of practicality, this is unsurprising when you consider the peculiar way that volus define self-actualisation and the foundational role it plays in the volus psyche. It's also why Irune reacts so furiously to any attempt by Citadel or alien authorities and political parties to unjustly regulate or control volus markets. They really do feel an evolutionary and social drive to defend individual freedom of action – the Three Freedoms of the Cloudseekers being that of Mind, Body, and Anima, expressed as they are through the interaction of matter and energy in a closed system.

Volus can understand collectivism on an intellectual level, and voluntary associations are an incredibly important part of their society, but philosophically they can never truly subsume the individual to the group and react to any totalitarian ideology with horror and even violence. The mere _prospect_ of eliminating individual expression and effort is one of the few things that will cause even the tamest volus to reach for a rifle. _(Addendum: I know all you an-caps and old-school libertarians are squealing with delight right now, but don't drop your panties just yet – as you'll see in the sections on volus culture and government, they are NOT what you think they are and the alien always functions in an alien way. There's enough anarcho-futurism in volus social life to make a hanar squirt ink. -Tiffany)_

Almost all volus laws are common, voluntary rules of association that all of the various major clans in volus society have agreed upon as valuable and, more importantly, useful in aiding the extraction of the life-bounty from the universe. The volus value these laws and follow them only as a means to an end, and so whilst volus society appears quite legalistic and committed to the rule of law on the surface, in reality it is only a tool, and if breaking the law is necessary in order to generate net energy or enhance value (and especially to strengthen the position of your clan and clannu) then most volus will happily do so and cop to a lesser charge in the unlikely event that they're caught.

The general exception to this is contract law, life-bounty protection measures, and the socio-religious imperative to uphold their duty of care towards clan and clannu; almost every volus alive takes these extremely seriously, and violation of these principles is one of the few capital offenses in volus society. Directives from the Book of Plenix are also treated with a certain degree of reverence by most orthodox wobblies; for instance, there are several sections that describe in remarkable detail how volus are to treat the environment with respect and act as prudent stewards, so most volus companies have galaxy-leading environmental protection procedures and very low pollution footprints.

Likewise, the Book of Plenix deals extensively with social obligations concerning charity and voluntary initiatives, and is largely responsible for the thriving civic society that volus enjoy (and for their extensive social development work in alien space). Note that 'charity' is defined differently in volus culture and does not compare to our own; volus charity carries implied terms of equal effort and responsibility on behalf of both parties, and they do not just give things away without some kind of return, even if that return is 'strengthening the Vol-Clan' or 'improving relations with aliens.' The idea of just handing something over to someone, without any _de facto_ or _de jure_ reciprocity, is, at best, considered to be a mental illness – at worst, a significant minority of Cloudwalker clerics would in fact argue that you're directly encouraging learned helplessness and an external locus of control in your charitable recipient – nay, victim – and that this can only be considered an act of misguided evil.

Volus are… an _interesting_ people.

With the exception of a few outcasts and other eccentrics, almost all volus assign moral responsibility solely to acts committed directly by the person, and _not_ to any second or third order effects regardless of how they impact others. This is plainly stated in the Book of Plenix, and (at least to humans) seems like an oddly disassociated argument that can excuse all kinds of morally questionable actions or even any kind of responsibility for the impact your choices have on others. For example, a volus who hires a mercenary company to raid a rival's trade route (or even murder them!) does not consider himself to have done anything wrong; he merely organised and paid for a lawful contract, but if he strangled his rival himself then he'd be treated as a murderer in volus society. The body and anima can only be held responsible for the immediate actions of itself.

In practice, this means that the wobblies are perfectly accepting of an enormous range of actions that would effectively be considered crimes in Human Space. Still, most volus have a strong sense of personal responsibility that has been subtlety influenced by turian culture over the centuries, and they will defend and justify their personal actions with a similar degree of fierceness. Refusing to own your decision, regardless of perceived ethical ramifications, is legally considered a grave offense and socially to be extremely immature.

Note that the precise wording of the Book of Plenix means that volus ethical obligations apply solely to volus and that aliens are _not_ accorded the same treatment, though most volus feel that the un-volus should be treated with a minimum degree of courtesy and respect provided it is first earned and demonstrated towards Vol-Clan. If not? Well, Earth-Clan, one cannot account for the brutish primitivism of those who are not volus, and business is simply business, isn't it? Millennia of condescension and dismissal by most of the players on the Citadel has left many volus somewhat frustrated and more than a little bitter, despite their longstanding and often warm relationships with many aliens.

* * *

 **Volus Romance and Sexuality**

Most aliens are barely aware that volus sexuality exists. Reading the clinical and detached notes of my father on the process, I can see why, even aside from how carefully the volus conceal it.

Humans in particular seem to view the little creatures as asexual, when they most assuredly are not. Volus certainly do not experience the same reproductive urges and drives common to almost every known species. In many cases, their emotional focus, or 'lens of the anima' as they call it, is often on other pursuits at different stages of their lives and relationships.

That doesn't mean it doesn't exist. It is not as central to their lives as with humans (or asari, ech), but it does have a basis in their culture.

Sometimes this is instinctual, such as when newly adult volus zealously date and seek out potential mating partners, and sometimes it is intentional, such as when older volus become obsessed with a single goal and devote all of their self to it for a period of time (usually months, but sometimes a few years).

Volus generally take a practical approach to romantic relationships and view them as both a gift and a long-term investment. This may sound decidedly unromantic to outsiders, but just as volus trade culture is far more than mindless bartering, so too is volus romance more than a bleak series of business transactions. Compared to us or the turians, for example, volus romance is less passionate in the early courtship phases, but they tend to maintain a higher intensity over a longer period of time, viewing the relationship as a bond to feed and strengthen over the years rather than burn out in a brief fling. Volus couples tend to be very fond of local and galactic travel, exploring and bartering in unfamiliar marketplaces, dining and entertaining guests, and indoor and outdoor group sports. They're also surprisingly keen revellers – walk into any bar, concert hall, or casino on the Citadel and you'll find herds of volus couples everywhere.

Volus see children as the primary dividend of long-term romantic relationships as well as a chance to invest into their own futures, so they tend to take the search for a suitable mate as well as their parenting duties very seriously. Most will spend an intense three to eight-year period in their young adulthood in what passes for the volus dating scene, and a number of clans specialise in matchmaking options and relationship advice. These young volus are expected to enjoy themselves during this time, but the ultimate purpose is to determine what kind of partner they're seeking and who they're most compatible with. It is common for both males and females to date several potential suitors at once, though once a mate is selected, almost all volus are fiercely monogamous.

Volus views on sexual morality are fairly boring, and mostly focused on children. The volus don't have 'sex' as we grasp it, so their concept of sexual fidelity is alien in the extreme – the idea of going through the 'mingling' (their term) for anything other than creating new life is a mix of horrific and baffling.

The most critical factor is whether or not a volus has fathered children/fallen pregnant. A volus who has already had a child and, for whatever reasons, lost their mate, is considered a superior partner than a virgin. Age plays a role as well – as I said, they're expected to commingle and find a fitting partner in their youth, but once they settle down they are considered to have entered into a de facto life-gift contract and are expected to fully commit to raising the offspring to the best of their ability, assuming that they are of legal age, are mentally competent, and have the backing of their clan and clannu (if any).

Most people are surprised to discover that volus take their family commitments so seriously, but yes, your typical volus parent is dedicated and attentive, and the literal volus translation for 'child' is 'gift of life.' The other critical factor is whether or not the volus is able to uphold their obligations to clan and clannu; if yes, then most volus are content to 'let you seek what bounty you would,' but if not, then this is taken as a serious breach of social contract and the volus in question may be subject to investigation and penalty.

That said, they don't really have a sexual culture, so there's no such thing as rape or sexual harassment or any of that. They only mingle to have children, they love them unconditionally even if they are disappointments, they never cheat on their spouses, and widows and widowers are seen as prime material to mate with, to bring back a light into their eyes.

It's so refreshing to deal with a species that isn't inherently fucking sick, isn't it?

I don't care how much I'm being paid or how badly humanity needs this in order to survive, I'm not going to discuss volus sex habits in detail here. The wobblies have no real 'sex acts' to begin with, and their idea of… well, physical attraction takes into consideration a host of things other races don't even have.

Volus _do_ in fact experience xenophilia, or attraction to other species, though this is admittedly uncommon and experienced by no more than one percent of volus in their lifetimes. It's also seen as faintly melancholic in volus culture, since, in almost all cases, their affections will be unrequited and there is no possibility of children, so the poor volus is pining for a fanciful investment that can never pay dividends and almost all of them will choose a volus mate instead.

It's mostly younger volus that experience this, but only older, richer, and more eccentric volus actually pursue relationships with aliens. Asari are obviously the only practical interspecies option, given their ability to have children with aliens, but very few asari are interested in volus mates or in the extensive augmentation and bio treatments required to have children with them.

There's only a few hundred such pairings in the entire galaxy, but the handful of asari who've publicly discussed these relationships seem quite satisfied with them. Then again, the kind of woman who shacks up with a volus is NOT representative of your typical blue, and the volus have full control of their own bodies and can create organs at will, so…

Ugh. I'll leave this line of thinking to Pel.

 _Quarians_ are actually the aliens that most volus xenophiles find most attractive, but they're also partial to human and asari weightlifters as well as younger, more petite elcor. There's a disproportionate number of highly eccentric volus multi-millionaire who have a fetish for alien sex partners but for the vast majority of volus this is simply not a practical option. _(Addendum: Elcor mating totems are actually the highest-selling sex toy in Wobbly Space. The more you know. -Tiffany)_

To address the rumour spreading around the Minuteman Station canteen: yes, volus pornography is a real thing, although it tends to the clinical. I'm not sure what purposes it serves, as I couldn't get anyone to really talk about it, but it's out there.

No, I'm not attaching any to this report, and I'm not discussing alien perversions in detail.

Honestly, most humans (at least I hope to God it really is most humans) would find most volus porn to be extremely weird, seeing as volus have an extremely strange view of the subject that does not translate well at all – the best fit would be 'the joint celebration of the gift of new life within the joyous bond of those who've invested in it.' It's more about how to pick good partners based on physical and mental traits and the best ways to shape the bolus… baby thing.

Hot.

As I said, this isn't comparable to human pornography, and to human eyes, most of it isn't even sexual.

Volus 'life gift celebration media' often includes extended and sumptuously photographed scenes of eating and drinking, the entire courtship process and narrative, musical interludes between multiple mingling sessions, the bolus formation and the intake process, and a concluding and normally comedic post-credits scene (powerful volus couples might even score a cameo from a volus or alien celebrity).

More religious volus will generally include a number of environmental fetishes that we would consider extremely eccentric or just deadly. For example, a Cloudseeking couple might go on a three-hour group date at a fine dining restaurant before trying to conceive their first child in an acid storm on a floating land formation in a blessed part of Irune. Most of it is also designed to be created and consumed by a group as an actual social event.

Seriously, I'm not talking about this anymore. We're moving on.

* * *

 **Volus and Violence**

A common media stereotype of volus is that they're adorkable civilian dandies who will flee, freeze, or faint when exposed to little more than a firm handshake. Less offensive descriptions will make a point of noting that most volus are, by nurture and by nature, not a very aggressive or militant species compared to their peers, and that violence is unusual in volus society outside of a few specialised organisations and environmental circumstances.

The stereotype certainly isn't true – most volus do shy away from violence, but are surprisingly nasty when they feel that they're cornered and have no other option but to fight, whilst the VDF and Unseen Cloud are stacked with hardened operatives who can hold their own with any of their Citadel counterparts. VDF Vorcha Liaison Commanders in particular are fucking savages, all of whom are coasting on a blend of concentrated aggression-response hormones, cognitive enhancers, illegal elcor combat drugs, and a hypnotic training regime I can only describe as unsettlingly cult-like; they are some of the only volus to truly enjoy killing and bloodshed.

The gentler, more academic description is fairly accurate, however. Volus society is remarkably peaceful compared to our own, and (publically, at least) they have almost nonexistent rates of murder, rape, assault, and the like. Most volus prefer not to engage in violence against other sapient beings if they can help it, but this does NOT mean that they aren't capable of it. Operatives should note that whilst volus are certainly slow to anger or inflict violence, when they do snap, they fully commit and are prone to enormous overreaction – this applies doubly to volus women, rather like turian women.

 _(Addendum: People talk a lot of shit about the wobblies, but allow me to remind you that a punch from a creature that evolved on a pressurised high-g world and can deadlift eight hundred kilos is going to turn a human into ragù. Their muscles can bounce most light arms, they can bend solid steel bars, and a simple joint-lock will tear your limb straight off. You've been warned. -Tiffany)_

Wobblies tend to be contemptuous of the 'barbarism' and 'unevolved instincts' of far too many non-volus, but what they find offensive there isn't so much the violence itself as the fact that other conflict resolution measures were clearly available, and were ignored. To them it suggests a lack of effort and imagination. Volus are not impressed by thuggish behaviour and readers will be surprised (I certainly was) to know that they tend to be harder to coerce than most humans! It's like trying to threaten someone in a language they barely understand. Overall, though, most volus strongly prefer alternative means of conflict resolution and consider themselves to be technical pacifists in their daily life.

Ironically, this can often lead to longer periods of intense hostility and violence-by-proxy. For example, in classical times, more unscrupulous volus merchants would leave baits and traps on their rivals' caravan routes, ensuring the poor fools would be stuck in the middle of nowhere before they're hit by a landslide or ambushed by a pack of predators.

In modern times, those same volus merchants are more than happy to make a run on your stock, plant a bomb in your office, lay a few mines on your most valuable shipping route, hire up a tech gang to sabotage your IT infrastructure, plant false evidence of a crime, or just do the old-fashioned thing and surround themselves with mercenaries and bodyguards who will do the killing for them whilst they nibble on a pastry. Don't ever confuse volus pacifism for passivity, or their restraint for weakness.

* * *

 **Volus Mental Illnesses and Disorders**

Volus do experience a small number of mental illnesses and various other disorders, some of which are very much species-specific and others which have broadly comparable analogues in alien cultures.

The most common mental illnesses amongst volus are addiction and post-traumatic stress disorder, both of which are somewhat comparable to the human experience, though volus tend to be far higher-functioning than all but the most successful human addicts. This may sound like a positive, but in practice, it just tends to enable their addiction to last longer and do more damage by the time they choose to deal with it. PTSD, to varying degrees and with varying manifestations, is a common volus reaction to extremely traumatic events, the most common of which are spaceborne accidents, ship decompressions, physical violence and suffering, suit ruptures, and predator attacks.

Given their evolutionary history, this is perhaps not surprising, and unlike our own species, the volus are far better at treating it – most sufferers are considered functional and healthy after two to six months of treatment. _(Addendum: I thoroughly recommend that we codevelop human-focused PTSD treatments with volus medical companies. It wouldn't be hard to set up a shell and holding company network, both parties would benefit greatly, it'd open up a new source of revenue for our organisation – thanks, Revenant Cell, for spending everything we have – and it'd truly make a difference in the lives of millions of people. I can think of no nobler cause for Cerberus to support. -Tiffany)_

Aside from those, volus do experience what we would consider to be depression as well as several other mood disorders, though these are normally based on a situational response, such as after losing a very important contract or seeing a clannu member suffer great pain and being unable to help. Quite a few volus will also experience a degree of obsessiveness and paranoid anxiety at some point, generally in extremely stressful scenarios, where they tend to double down on their work as a survival instinct.

A small percentage of volus are prone to a number of related non-neurotypical conditions that manifest in eccentric behaviour. These include odd manners of dress and grooming (such as wearing a human top hat, an asari dress, or a turian honour sash), odd obsessions and speech patterns (such as excessively fragmented sentences, or very flowery turns of phrase), repetitive pattern-focused physical tics and habits (like locking all doors in a certain order), poor or otherwise strange and 'disconnected' social skills (such as difficulty with eye contact and small talk), and an incredible ability to remain focused on a task and to intelligently make decisions and process information (for example, designing, researching, and writing an award-winning thesis in a week, or going on a brief business trip to alien space and coming back fluently speaking a local dialect).

Not all volus with these conditions will have every single one of these symptoms, nor will they all be so severe, but they'll have most of them to some degree. _(Addendum: These conditions are most likely caused by unusual growth patterns in the nerve-gate analogues present in the volus gel-stem. Obviously, we don't understand this, or pretty much ninety-five per cent of volus biology, as much as we'd like. Still, I'd rather the Dog demonstrates slow, morally acceptable progress when the alternative is the sickening insanity of Shadow Cell's mad science death camps. -Tiffany)_

The most distinct and consequential of all volus conditions is one that I believe deserves its own section. Read on.

* * *

 **Volus Depthwalkers**

Every species has those they consider Other, outcast, fallen, broken, freakish, or somehow wrong. Asari have their ardat-yakshi, salarians their Yindos and Lythari, turians their Palavanus/Separatists/Outcasts, batarians their Recidivists, and humans… well, we'll find any excuse to dehumanise each other. Whilst volus are remarkably social and usually accepting of each other's flaws and eccentricities, there are certain… fault lines within their collective psychology, certain beliefs and behaviors that most would consider profoundly un-volus and perhaps even hostile to the Vol-Clan itself. This surprises most observers, but then most are unlikely to directly encounter what passes for the Other in Vol-Clan culture.

These creatures are called 'Depthwalkers,' which is taken from the (rather baroque) description given in the second-last chapter of the Book of Plenix: "those who chose to sunder the heavens and bountiful clouds therein, who renounce all clan and clannu save theirs alone and wilfully cast themselves into the harrowing un-life of the Depths to seek their forsaken bounty, to devour and pillage and feed the void within themselves, a slave to the whims of the outside and the outsider." I'd like to take this opportunity to remind readers that the 'Depths' are both literal and metaphorical within volus culture; it refers to the literal Depths regions in the northern and southern hemispheres of Irune, as well as the metaphysical state of atomised damnation discussed extensively in the final chapters of the Book of Plenix. I'd call it a kind of volus Avīci, the hell-like Buddhist realm where those who've committed grave offenses must suffer before (possibly) being reborn – whilst a little clumsy, it _does_ get the gist of it across.

Except for the fact that the Book of Plenix offers no chance at salvation or reincarnation for those who willfully choose to enter the Depths.

What the vast majority of volus find so repulsive about Depthwalkers is that they are seen, for whatever reason, as having wilfully chosen to become what they are and to actively revel in it, an opinion that is somewhat at odds with the latest theories of the medical community on Irune. Volus healing specialists consider being a Depthwalker to be a permanent state of being, an incurable medical condition that can only be managed by ascetic discipline and incredible strength of will or, failing that, exile or even death.

It carries a great stigma within much of volus society, though it is often associated with great (and usually terrible) deeds and a staggering degree of focus and mental acuity. Indeed, a number of historical volus heroes and villains are arguably somewhere on the Depthwalker spectrum. Typically, one to three per cent of volus will display at least three symptoms of the Depthwalker condition. There are thirty-eight symptoms in total. Volus displaying 0-4 symptoms are considered 'the Clear,' 5-12 are 'the Corrupt,' 12-20 are 'the Forsaken,' 21-29 are the 'the Lost,' 30-37 are 'the Damned,' and those who display all thirty-eight are reviled as 'the Stalkers of the Depths, damned eight times by the Word of Plenix.'

I won't list all of the symptoms here. Sixteen of them are extremely specific to volus cultural quirks, physiology, and social norms, so almost no human observers would be able to discern their meaning. There are several, however, that Cerberus personnel in the field would certainly pick up on and consider distinct or remarkable: a flat affect when exposed to violence or threats of violence, a tendency towards narcissism, sadism toward those they believe have wronged them, a constant state of very high-functioning paranoia, heavily reduced or non-present capacity for altruism and empathy (though they're excellent at faking it), extremely focused feats of reasoning and other forms of intellectual performance, a far higher capacity for aggressiveness compared to other volus, and consistently amoral behaviour. To be fair, that last quality is negotiable – there are several mutually conflicting Depthwalker factions, and quite a few of them actually advocate their own moral codes, though almost all well-adjusted and sane volus would consider these perverse.

Operatives should note that Depthwalkers retain the general affability and sociable nature of most volus – they can be rather charming and glib when they need to be – and often are just as committed to their immediate clannu, though _never_ clans, at least not in any meaningful sense of the word. Other clans are merely a tool to be used for your own ends. Depthwalkers are also notable for being the only major group within volus society to entirely reject the spiritual authority of the Cloudseekers, though most still treat them with a cool and somewhat bitter politeness.

I'll be discussing their various factions in later sections, but the largest are the 'Outsiders,' who advocate a kind of entropic vampirism, literally outside of Plenixian concepts of good and evil. Philosophically, these Depthwalkers follow what they call ' _Nazah Ish-Kol_ ,' or 'The Empty Gate.' This is an archaic reference in a dead language – coined, as you'll no doubt remember, by the Shrouded Divine – to the desecrated temple entrance that led to the Undercity in the southern Depths on Irune, and the mythical journey of the fallen spiritual leader who walked the path to become the first Depthwalker. According to legend, the ruin is guarded by an immortal eight-headed lictor, who would challenge the seeking volus to a philosophical debate and mathematical contest – if victorious, you're admitted to the Depths, if not, eaten alive with your clannu and clan, your anima damned to wander Irune for eternity.

Whilst a full report on this 'philosophy' is beyond the scope of this document, I'll give you the basics: existence has no inherent meaning and life has no inherent value beyond what a Walker assigns to it, divine revelation and consciously-crafted moral codes are both equally the product of sub-life minds too frightened to face their existential insignificance and too pathetic to do anything about it, the Walker is a heroic being by right of the will to power and the triumph of the deed alone, productivity and net energy generation are desirable and zero-sum endeavours, those who are unproductive and net consumers of energy are inferior and deserve to be punished for their parasitic life, objective and amoral reasoning is the only truth, and the furthering of the Self (in both the present and also in legacy) the only form of transcendence.

You know what the strangest thing is, though? The Outsiders are actually in conflict with the most powerful (and also the oldest and smallest) Depthwalker faction, those of the Original Intent. These creatures argue for a much more reverent and literal adherence to the spirit of the Shrouded Divine, whom they consider to be both a higher and a higher-dimensional being. (Believing the Shrouded Divine to be a lower being would also be semantically correct, I suppose.) Naturally they consider the Outsiders to be metaphysical apostates and the worst kind of poseurs, people too weak to truly commit to the Eight Shards of the Broken Path first walked by the Shrouded Divine.

Regardless of their politics, Depthwalkers make up about ninety-six per cent of volus organised criminals, extremists, terrorists, and other dangerous antisocial elements of volus society. Interestingly though – and as far as we can tell from the available data – the Depthwalker gender ratio is identical to the VDF: fifty-two/forty-eight female/male. How curious. We do know for a fact that the VDF recruits a small number of very high spectrum Depthwalkers for their counter-assault biotic and vorcha commander programmes, and the Unseen Cloud does the same for a significant number of their offensive operations personnel. (They're both very discreet about this.) Aside from that, Depthwalkers are considered untouchable pariahs in volus society. There are rumours that some of the Vol Court of Corporations, the Ascended Ranks of Worth, and the Cloudseekers are compromised by Depthwalker infiltration, but as of the writing of this document, we have not been able to confirm any of this.

* * *

 **Volus and Aliens**

The relationship between the Vol Protectorate and the **Turian** Hierarchy goes back over one thousand five hundred years, and like any old and unbreakable bond it has seen both parties experience a great deal of frustration, difficulty, and occasional fights. It's also endured longer than any interspecies alliance in the history of the galaxy, with the possible exception of the asari-salarian Citadel Accords, depending on your preferred historical references. If my father is correct, even the shape the volus use is adapted to turian values and design, which is, in its own unique way, a sort of approval.

Both species are proud of what they have accomplished together, and volus and turians usually get along well on an individual level. Their interactions often have a yin/yang dynamic that has inspired a thousand buddy cop shows, sitcoms, and historical documentaries. _(Addendum: There's some truth in this trope, since the second most common interspecies pairing in C-Sec is a turian detective and a volus analyst. -Tiffany)_

Turian and volus value systems are more compatible than they'd appear at first glance – think their mutual obligations to the familial group and their standards of reciprocity – but differ so greatly in execution and appearance that both parties tend to fall into pedantic yet good-natured squabbling. Whilst there are some aspects of the relationship that each party wishes they could change, over the centuries, they seem to have slowly accepted that societal change can only come from within and that forcing it is counterproductive and ineffective. Despite the official severing of the Turian-Volus Accord, _do not_ expect these two species to become enemies; both Irune and Palaven are well aware that they are each better off by maintaining a close relationship and leveraging the other's strengths against their 'friends' on the Citadel, and it is not in the nature of either volus or turians to burn a longstanding relationship.

Volus and **elcor** have a great deal of affection for each other, with both species sharing embassies on the Citadel and slathering the other with endless praise as 'a great ally of our people.' Both elcor and volus find that their sheer oddness is a point of common ground, in terms of biology, psychology, and social organisation when compared to the relative homogeneity of other Citadel races. The supremely fluid and adaptable nature of volus trade culture is a natural fit with the open and accommodating nature of most of elcor society, and volus find elcor loyalty and obsessive pre-planning to be most refreshing. Elcor Lifemasters and volus Cloudseekers have enjoyed many hundreds of years of interspecies philosophy and theological debate. The two species share a great deal of commerce and tourism, and their respective militaries train together with increasing frequency. On a personal level, volus are so sociable and elcor so easygoing that they tend to be fast friends. Along with the turians, the elcor are Irune's greatest and longest-serving ally.

Volus relations with the **asari** are somewhat complicated and (amusingly) unrequited. The volus have a great deal of respect for the biotic power and skill of even the humblest asari, and the Vol Protectorate concedes that the asari are the dominant power in the galaxy. Despite the Thirty's shady, condescending glances (which, admittedly, is the default resting face of any member of the Thirty), most volus find them more palatable than the greys and more flexible than the birds. Your average volus merchant actually enjoys doing business with most asari, since they share a sociable trade culture and a propensity for long-term relationships and investments. Volus corporations do a great deal of trade with asari on the Citadel and with the outcast groups within asari society (all the blues on Ilium, Noveria, the Terminus, and so on). Asari are also the only interspecies romance option available to the handful of volus eccentrics who favour such things. _(Addendum: The asari who take volus mates are, to put it politely, off their fucking tree. -Tiffany)_

On the surface, it seems like the two species are an odd, yet broadly compatible match, but this isn't so.

Why unrequited? That, to me, is the most delicious part: the asari barely notice the volus at all. Maidens find the volus frustrating, since they're sexually unavailable and unable to meld or even link without millions of credits worth of augmentation and bio-treatments, and whilst volus do enjoy travel and adventure (in their own way), they're not keen on the kind most maidens are seeking. Matrons obviously don't see volus as suitable mates and rarely see immersion into volus life and culture as worth the investment when bonding and family are not possible, though it's quite common for them to be friends with the volus they work with or the volus in their communities. Most matriarchs tended to dismiss the volus as the turian management-caste until about one hundred and twenty years ago, and whilst they're slowly coming to view Irune as standing separate from Palaven, and thus, perhaps worthy of further investigation, this is a slow process.

These are, of course, broad generalisations, and there are many exceptions. Asari military and police types get along very well with their VDF counterparts, seeing as both are the products of a culture that considers professional warfare to be an afterthought, and volus high finance and legal professionals enjoy intimate relationships with their equivalents in the asari clans. Asari and volus outcasts also do a great deal of business together and tend to be broadly compatible. For most asari, however, and for the species as a whole, volus are simply a secondary concern.

Volus are extremely wary of **salarians**. They appreciate the individual drive, keen mind, and business opportunities that salarians have to offer, but do not care for their bizarre moral framework, obsessive paranoia and secretiveness, or espionage shenanigans in Volus Space. That the Salarian Union is mostly dismissive of the Vol Protectorate, viewing them as little more than the birds' hired help, is also considered offensive by most volus and reminds them far too much of the asari, with the added bonus (penalty?) that the greys aren't even fun to look at. _(Addendum: To be fair, the greys are dismissive of pretty much anyone who isn't as oh-so-clever as themselves. We can exploit this arrogance. -Tiffany)_

Still, most volus get along just fine with the more open-minded salarians willing to be friends with them, often sharing a dry wit and a curiosity about the galaxy around them, and all salarians enjoy volus trade culture with its ever-changing markets and vigorous haggling. Salarian and volus joint-ventures are quite common in the business world, especially in the Terminus, with both partners benefitting – the greys bring their singular focus and obsessive intelligence gathering, whilst the volus provide their perceptive analysis and entrepreneurial élan. They certainly don't trust the salarians, and they aren't naïve enough to believe that the greys have benign plans for the volus in the long-term; they've seen what the asari and salarians are trying to do to the Hierarchy, and are gradually pushing them back.

Prior to the Geth Rebellion, **quarians** and volus had surprisingly close ties, and the volus often acted as intermediaries between them and the turians. This state of affairs was compromised by the geth uprising, but is changing, and Irune hopes for a much closer relationship – possibly even an alliance – in the future, which is why the Vol Court of Corporations was so keen to invest in the first quarian IPOs in Citadel Space, and why the Vol Protectorate offered them such generous humanitarian aid (as it were) after the Battle of the Citadel. Remember, quarian psychology places an extremely high value on loyalty, and the volus are very much aware of this, though they are deeply suspicious of quarian collectivist political theory. _(Addendum: They see it as dangerously close to outright communism, which is, and I'm not joking, legally defined as a casus belli in volus culture since time immemorial. Abolition of the right to competition is considered grounds for nuclear bombardment back home on Irune. -Tiffany)_

That said, quarians tend to be deeply appreciative of the fact that the volus have always been willing to trade with them in the face of the Citadel's apathy, and for three hundred years volus ship captains have carried on an old tradition of waiving all charges and fees for quarians on Pilgrimage in exchange for getting the youngsters to do a few token jobs aboard the vessel. The volus, for their part, admire quarian ingenuity and resourcefulness. The Vol Protectorate and the quarian Admiralty maintain regular correspondence, and the first joint exercises between the VDF and the quarian Heavy Fleet are scheduled to take place this spring. Personal relations between the species are warm and improving, although the relationship between their respective governments is, for the most part, stronger than the bonds between individual volus and quarians – most simply don't get the opportunity to spend a great deal of time developing quality relationships with the other.

 **Krogan** and volus are so comically mismatched that relations between them are often immediately hostile or come full circle and end up being almost friendly. Both species are painfully aware that they have almost nothing in common but the occasional business venture, and in a strange way this is almost freeing for both parties. Krogan have no ancient grudges and bitter wounds to reopen with the volus, no clashes over wealth or technology or territory, no blood-feuds and scavenging for mates. Unlike the Big Three species, volus do not lord their position over the krogan, and vice versa. On the contrary, the volus see a proud warrior culture that, whilst grossly barbaric and obviously incompatible with their own, is made up of rugged individualists who were fucked over by the blues and greys, live in clans that are open to trade (if you can sneak it past the CDEM, and volus merchants most assuredly can), and are always up for a bite to eat, a drink, and some lively bartering, so they can't be all bad can they?

Both species were dismissing and contemptuous of each other in the beginning, true, with the krogan viewing the volus as wretched moneychangers and the volus viewing the krogan as retarded savages, and the relationship was downright hostile during the krogan Rebellions. The Krogan Emperor flung several asteroids at the volus's First Phase colonies in an effort to break the logistics of the turian war machine, causing tens of millions of casualties; Irune responded by singlehandedly financing the economic strangulation and martial castration of Tuchanka in the aftermath of the war. Since that low point, however, tempers have cooled, mistakes have been recognised, and though they aren't exactly close, they're certainly cordial enough. Relations in-person are either distant and businesslike, or oddly warm, with a good deal of back-and-forth snarking and well-intended insults. Shepard's brief remarks on the easy banter between Urdnot Wrex and Doran are typical of a positive later-day volus-krogan relationship.

Does _anyone_ get along with **batarians**? 'Getting along' implies consent and mutual affection, so I suppose the answer is a resounding 'no.' Volus as a species have no love for Khar'shan, and this would be true even if you ignored the endless atrocities that the squints have inflicted upon the Hierarchy, not to mention the constant piracy of volus-backed trade lanes by mostly-batarian outlaws in the Terminus. _(Addendum: The fact that the Hegemon had always denied official sanction of these raids, whilst surrounded by the spoils and with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face, did not help calm tempers on Irune. The sheer unashamed ballsiness of batarian hypocrisy and insult is incredible. -Tiffany)_

Whilst volus can certainly understand the extreme individualism and selfishness of the batarian mind, and are always happy to exploit it for profit, almost all volus find the batarian obsession with power displays and domination to be the height of uncivilised barbarity and view their abusiveness and misogyny with utter disgust. Volus are very rarely taken as slaves by batarian raiders – no need to go to the trouble of enslaving a volus banker or lawyer when you can just rent their services for a competitive fee – and the fact that more than a few volus are physically capable of matching a mid-high batarian male gives the squints some pause. Oddly enough, the outcasts of both species have no problem with each other, often sharing a certain odd couple dynamic and a mutual respect for their (radically opposed) skill sets. Depthwalkers tend to find the batarian will to power to be refreshingly direct and honest, whilst the squints admire their counterparts' ruthless amorality and focus; it should come as no surprise that most squint pirate bands, mafias, and Terminus warlords receive financial, legal, and operational backing from Depthwalker criminal groups.

The volus do not have very much contact with the **hanar** and their **drell** servants. The drifty nature of most hanar doesn't bother the volus too much, though they don't find it to be genuinely easygoing in the manner of the elcor and are convinced that the hanar are trying to play them in some unfathomably long negotiation. The hanar tendency to switch between different… well, I wouldn't call them 'moods' or 'behaviours' so much as radically different personality profiles – either way, this is also treated with a great deal of suspicion by most volus due to its connotation with the polymorphic capabilities of most Depthwalkers. The bizarre communal anarchism of hanar society – or at least what we know of it – is quite strange to the wobblies and they view it with a mix of curiosity and heavy criticism. From what we've seen of volus interactions with the drell in Citadel Space, they seem to have no problems with one another, though these conclusions are being drawn from very limited sample sizes.

Nobody saw the volus relationship with the **vorcha** coming, seeing as no one thought you could _have_ a meaningful relationship with those creatures in the first place. Volus are the only species to treat vorcha with anything approaching kindness or respect, and they've invested tens of billions of credits into their Vorcha Uplift Initiative, a development and training program with a number of military, social, and political applications that is run by the VDF and overseen by the Vol High Court. Note that the volus are _not_ uplifting the vorcha as a species, and they are not coercing them into some kind of involuntary servitude. The initial vorcha breeding stock was bought lawfully from biotechnology firms licensed to operate in Citadel Space and is regularly inspected by the Spectre Office and the Citadel Committee for Sapient Rights. The vorcha themselves were given a chance to voluntarily leave Volus Space or request passage back to their homeworld; none did once the program was explained to them. I discuss the volus-vorcha combine in a little more detail in the military section, but readers should note that the program's goals are more comprehensive than we suspected and, if successful, they will radically impact galaxy society.

Finally, volus see **humans** as both an exciting opportunity and a dangerous variable. They thoroughly enjoy our work ethic, entrepreneurial spirit, creativity, and capacity for innovation. Volus look at the sweep of human history and see many figures, organisations, and events that they find admirable. The British East India Company, the Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation, and (God do I love the irony) Cerberus – these are clear evidence that the Earth-Clan has great potential, and that the Vol-Clan stand to gain much profit by cooperating.

 _(Addendum: eyes only: Illusive Man: A privately operated non-state paramilitary, feared by governments, financed by venture capital, and run by a self-made übermensch who eschews direct battle and champions the species as a whole? The volus love that shit. You'd get ALL the headpats in Wobbly Space. Try not to feel too flattered, sir. -Tiffany)_

Volus see our sexism and racism as creepy and unproductive, and obviously view classism as the whiny bitching of those too weak and envious to work on solving their problems by embracing the market. They also look at our infinite capacity for division, violence, and tribalism and recoil in disgust. The repeated rise throughout human history of totalitarian ideologies and authoritarian statist regimes, in particular, is seem as extremely dangerous and truly evil by almost all volus, and it's a civilizational trait that simply has to be eradicated before the Earth-Clan are further integrated into galactic society. Most of them find the clumsy aristocratic state capitalism of the Systems Alliance distasteful and inefficient at best, by the way.

On a personal level, humans and volus tend to be a little confused and wary of each at first, but the awkwardness tends to melt away once humans discover that volus love to eat, drink, gamble, dance, fuck, travel, and otherwise work hard and play harder. To most of my peers on the galactic social scene, the wobblies may not be as fun to look at as the blues, but, as they do in war, they'll surprise you more often than not.

* * *

 **A Final Note**

In case this report hasn't made it obvious, I'll say it again: these secondary alien races _do not easily fit into human psychological and cultural norms_. These aspects of them are just as alien as their physiology. (And the wobblies are the more relatable ones!) The standardized formats and theoretical frameworks we use here in the Research Division are designed to emphasise the alien nature of the various species we deal with. Their purpose is to offer a comparative framework relative to a human baseline. The simple truth is that you can't make the volus (or any of the others, really, if we're being honest) fit into something like Maslow's Hierarchy, or any other human psychological framework… and perhaps that is the point.

-Dr Tiffany Minsta

* * *

 **Message Header: HELNET BEGIN ENCRYPTION STRING**

 **NEGOTIATING ARBITRAGE HEADERS…CLEAR**

 **SYSFILL 8851241-SUB-TWO:** _Cross check complete_

 **SUCCUBUS-THREE-THREE :: RASA-33**

 **CREATING HANDSHAKE…ACKNOWLEDGMENT HANDSHAKE ACCEPTED**

 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: RASA**

* * *

I've read over the piece. I will certainly admit her primacy in the field of inductive xenopsychology. Of course, I've my own observations, but I think I will withhold those for now, sir.

The interesting thing is that once she is focused on a topic, the ignorant fop-female vanishes into a very focused, competent professional. Of course, she is still a bit rattled and hesitant around me, and she is surprisingly cautious around my support staff as well – both good points and more than I expected.

An arrogant brat would have reacted with outrage and anger after she recovered from her fright, and would be attempting to demonstrate her 'nobility' over others. She's done nothing of the sort, so she either has more brains than I originally suspected or her father is giving her good advice that she actually listens to.


	7. Chapter 7 : Volus Culture - Structure

**A/N:** _This chapter was written entirely by_ ** _Jacob_** _, except for the final piece at the bottom after the actual report._

 _Might have a new chapter of the main fic out by the end of the month. Will probably have the rest of the culture section done by the end of the week – it's written, I just need to tweak a few things._

* * *

 **The Cerberus Files : Secondary Races**

* * *

 **Volus Culture – Structure**

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 **HERA-ONE-SEVEN-FOUR: TIFFANY-174**

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 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: TIFFANY MINSTA**

Sir,

I'm writing this from high orbit above Irune, in what may just be the most outrageously decadent space station I've ever had the pleasure of staying at. Really, this place makes the Zakara Ward feel like dumpster-diving at a foreclosed 7-Eleven.

In all seriousness, I suppose this _does_ serve as a useful introduction to volus culture for the observant reader. It's the little details that tell you so much.

Consider how we were introduced, how we were treated, how they prepared for us. I came here in my official academic capacity as an Arcturus/Cambridge alumnus, yes, but also as a potential investor from House Minsta, and I'm convinced that the VDF and Unseen Cloud suspect that my Family has been… uh, known to take a Dog for a walk every now and then. The most fascinating part of this, to me at least, is the fact that the volus don't seem particularly concerned by any possible links to Cerberus.

They haven't been so gauche as to blatantly _ask_ about my political affiliations, of course, but they're certainly making some well-informed comments about my last trip to Noveria and about my interests on the Citadel and in Human Space. They're looking for any possibility of a mutually beneficial arrangement of some kind or, failing that, some leverage or information that they can sell to a third-party later on for profit.

Then again, the extremely heavily armed and dangerous looking 'security' Rasa has provided might also be a factor. No matter. The volus are… un-melodramatic. They simply accept the way things are. We're here for much the same thing. Wheels within wheels within wheels – it's why this business never gets old and never stops being fun.

Now then, let's dispense with some of those telling details. Upon our arrival at the orbital complex we were greeted by a rather dapper representative from Irune, who offered us a courtesy display of refreshments in the manner of a traditional hospitality greeting, and a practising Cloudseeker of the Path of Plenix, who offered us the Blessings of Plenix before bowing and departing. We were then escorted to our quarters, which would serve as both a bedroom and study for our party as well as a base of operations for our research into the volus. It was exquisite. They had prepared for us and spared no expense.

It was almost at once an exercise in negotiation and seduction. Real hardwood from the remains of the Andes, a duvet hand-woven from Thessian sea-silk, scented coral sculptures from Mannovai, a 'recreational cabinet' in the Omegan style that contained almost every drug and contraband I've ever heard of, and a haptic catalogue of on-station services that catered to every need and desire you could possibly imagine.

Galactic concierge services, social connections, financial and legal assistance, inter-cultural advice, escorts and concubines, a personal translator and tour guide, contract tenders for bodyguards or entire mercenary companies, intelligence and knowledge broker requests, _anything_. You can purchase room service and murder from the same damn wobbly. Each of these services were specifically tailored to each individual member of our party in frankly unsettling detail and delivered with a disarming warmth and friendliness.

 _( _Addendum: No doubt Rasa has already mentioned that the volus security manager disposed of those STG corpses like he was giftwrapping a pair of shoes for us… and I strongly suspect that there's all kinds of darker services in this place. No doubt she can tell you more. -Tiffany_ )_

Our host personally offered me a tour of the Grand Academy of Sciences on Irune, an all-access pass to the dancehall on the orbital station, and a haptic catalogue of 'companions' I could select for an evening. The catalogue itself was astounding and, I admit, slightly disturbing, but professionally speaking, it is interesting to note how much more sophisticated it was compared to your usual fare. Your typical escort or prostitute service simply sells sex for money, but the wobblies are far, far more clever than that: they sell moods, experiences, information, and fantasies, _and not just to the client_. I discussed this with some of Rasa's… people, and they matter-of-factly pointed out that these 'companionship' services were often anything but.

Corporations used them as part of their rewards and incentive programs (getting an expenses-paid trip to Vol Prime for exceptional performance, for instance). More unscrupulous corporations use them as a source of corporate espionage. Politicians use them to blackmail rivals. Some private psychologists use them as a form of exposure therapy. Consulting firms use them to train clients in interacting with aliens. Intelligence officers of every species often use them as a cover for meeting agents or other sources, since it offers a perfect excuse for being secretive. The asari Discerning (or Nightwind, if you've _really_ pissed-off one of the Thirty) often seed agents into the companion ranks, particularly when targeting VIPs. STG and Broker agents are not uncommon here either. Various power players of every species drop in to Vol Prime to indulge in their vices in a manner far safer and more above-board than, say, Noveria or Ilium.

Most companionship services aren't even sexual – again, the wobblies offer a far more comprehensive service. You can rent a meditation grove, smoke some shit that makes DMT look like a glass of milk, and discuss life philosophy with a former elcor Lifemaster. You can dine for four hours with a sensuous and erudite matriarch who has spent _centuries_ mastering fine art and conversation.

You can book a week of CQB training sessions with a former Blackwatch instructor. You can hunt all manner of beasts in a gigantic Armax-style arena with a bona fide Clan Thax huntmaster. Of course, if you are after something carnal, you can hire a luxury suite and, well, almost anyone or anything you desire. A quarian who specialises in erotic dance, a batarian sadist (?!), as many Eclipse joygirls as you can handle, or a selection of young humans who make Ms. Lawson and Mr. Taylor looks like two sacks of potatoes. Anything.

This place is its own world.

I feigned a slightly awkward sense of shock, of course, and asked our host if such offers were a standard service. His response was surprisingly thoughtful and quintessentially volus: "The Earth-clan desires most the thing that it cannot have, or which is furthest away, or always denied, and so the Irune-clan can bring it closer to you, for a price. Thus, there is the possibility of profit for all, and entropy is kept at bay for one more day."

There is nothing I can say that will tell you more about what volus are and how they see the universe more than those words right there, but I'll try.

Read on.

* * *

 **First Impressions**

To be volus is to be a living collection of paradoxes.

You are the product of a culture so individualist that your personal capacity to extract value from the universe is considered the highest possible expression of moral justice, and yet your day-to-day life is more defined by communal relationships than any krogan or salarian. You don't feel any guilt whatsoever at the prospect – nay, the Plenix-blessed _necessity_ – of destroying the life and future of a business rival, but will devote most of your waking hours to bettering the lives of both loved ones and total strangers. You know that most aliens will dismiss you as nothing more than a tubby, money-grubbing goober, but still you deem them worthy of trade in the hopes that one day they will value what you value, and in doing so usher in a new golden age for galactic civilisation.

One day, you welcome a guest into your own home and offer them every dish and drink from your table, and on the next you shatter their livelihood, wishing you could make them see as you see and finally understand the necessity of what it is you do. They never will, for they are brutish and un-volus, and though a bare handful may yet salvage themselves from such ruin you know that most will not, and it makes you weep at the thought of all the profits lost and bounties forsaken by those who wilfully choose to turn away from the Path of Plenix. But you don't give up, because it is entropy that is the Great Enemy and apathy its greatest tool; you are a volus, and until your dying breath will you seek to extract all you can from this existence, praise be to Plenix.

Perhaps you'd like something a little less lyrical? That's fine, I can oblige. If you take nothing else from this section, take this: volus cultural structure is deceptively straightforward and orderly, whereas the societal expression of those structures is an order of magnitude more complex and hectic. Far too many humans – even ones who went to real universities! – think of the volus as nothing more than an entire race of anarcho-capitalists and milquetoast buffoons. That's just as unforgivably stupid and dangerous (not to mention gauchely racist) as assuming that asari are a clique of magical blue slags, turians a regiment of repressed bird-monsters, or salarians a gaggle of sneaky frogs tweaking out in a lab. _( _Addendum: If some mouth-breather out there read all of that and took it seriously, you can fuck right off to Iron or Shadow Cell. Oh, wait. You can't. They're all dead. Probably because they underestimated aliens when they should have been listening to me. -Tiffany)__

It may seem like the previous examples are simply nonsensical and paradoxical, but to a volus these are exquisitely balanced expressions of the same principles. To them their culture is as precise and elegant as any mathematical equation and as frantic and focused as any flow-of-consciousness painting. In terms of cultural anthropology, such a perspective is a natural extension of the normative development of volus trade culture, particularly in their early stages when the proto-clans were interacting on a continental basis and establishing the first mutual protection and trade treaties. If you assume _a priori_ that nature abhors a vacuum and that we are forever bound to our nature then a chaotic yet forever balanced equilibrium is the ideal desirable state for an ecosystem, a market, and even an entire civilisation. The fact that this state of affairs is most conducive to free markets, thus allowing for maximum energy and value extraction from a closed system, is both inevitable and a delicious bonus, and all volus love bonuses.

* * *

 **The Vol – Clan and the Vol Protectorate**

The highest and broadest clan association in Volus Space is that of the vol-clan. It is a default association that is assigned to all volus at birth, and yet for almost all volus its prerogatives override that of all others (save for a handful of Cloudseekers and the Fallen). The vol-clan technically includes every volus alive and every volus that has ever lived, and in modern times it cannot be separated from the functions of the Vol Protectorate. Yes, the Vol Protectorate is merely the volus government but the foundation for its legitimacy is its claim of practical galactic representation of the vol-clan, and thus of all volus, and so almost all of them find it to be in their interests to support the Vol Protectorate. The counterbalance to this unspoken social contract is that the Vol Protectorate itself must be seen to _earn_ its right to represent the galactic interests of all volus; unlike human governments, its mandate is not taken for granted and must instead be earned and defended on an annual basis.

 _(Addendum: Curiously, this annual measurement is actually a recent development. The wobblies tied the public reporting requirements of the Vol Protectorate to Citadel-standard legal norms and even the common galactic calendar, ostensibly to improve relatability to aliens. The real, and far older, cycle the wobblies use is religious in nature and based upon the ebb and flow of a vast fungal reef on the eastern edge of their oldest continent. -Tiffany)_

The volus Cloudmaster – the overall leader of their society and the head of their government – is required to give a live speech each year, whereupon he or she defends the achievements of the Vol Protectorate before the galaxy and presents an unclassified executive summary to the public at large and a classified version to the VDF, the Vol Court, and the Most High of the Cloudseekers. If successful, the various Proctors of the Vol Court vote and consent to another term of his or her leadership; if not, then the Cloudmaster is put on two years notice, and is expected to improve their performance or be replaced by universal e-democratic vote (though this can be delayed by a further three years by a supermajority vote by the Proctors).

As the vol-clan cannot be practically disentangled from the day-to-day running of the Vol Protectorate, I'll be covering the details in the section on the volus government, but suffice to say that volus expectations of success and failure are not like ours. Past Cloudmasters have posted a quarter century of annual losses and been re-elected every year after they've successfully persuaded the volus public that such losses were both necessary and a long-term investment.

It would be the height of anthropocentric idiocy to assume that the entire Vol Protectorate functions as nothing more than a glorified human boardroom. The Proctors of the Vol Court are, as a rule, the most cunning and successful volus alive, men and women who have spent decades interacting with all manner of aliens, who have had to prove themselves over and over again in a series of increasingly difficult positions and in the face of every imaginable galactic crisis, and who are ultimately responsible for billions of lives and trillions of credits. The Cloudmaster is selected from the best of them, and they all take their duties as seriously as any Matriarch, Dalatrass, or High Lord of Sol. There is no such thing as a bureaucrat or apparatchik in Volus Space, and _all_ of their equivalent civil service positions function in an independent, for-profit manner in fluid market spaces. Admittedly, volus have a far more comprehensive perspective on profit, but the volus government is not some bloated statist authority that engorges itself over the years and slowly strangles the lives of the people it is supposed to represent. No, the Vol Protectorate actively enables its citizens to achieve their fullest potential and strives to be as lean and agile as possible; think of it as an utterly alien expression of eudemonia-as-government.

Operatives should also note that turian culture has subtly influenced some aspects of volus culture, and vice versa, which should hardly come as a surprise considering how closely intertwined both civilisations have been for almost all of modern history. Turian influence is most obvious in the developmental history of the VDF. However, most volus clan-structures have also been affected (probably not intentionally, the only spikes capable of that kind of subtlety are the Palavanus and they really don't seem too concerned about the wobblies) and this can clearly be seen in the tightening intra-clan standards of personal accountability as well as the Vol Protectorate's increasingly aggressive claims to be the sole legitimate galactic representative of the vol-clan, in much the same way that the Hierarchy claims to be the sole authority for all turians.

Finally, the core turian concept of reciprocal honour – that is to say, that honour can only be accorded to those who possess it themselves – was rapidly adopted and folded into volus culture on those few occasions where they consider honour (in the turian sense) at all. This was certainly facilitated by the fact that reciprocity, in its many and varied facets, already plays a powerful role in volus culture. I discuss this in much greater detail in the next section on Cultural Expression, but in terms of structural norms operatives should be aware that in times of war and conflict volus DO NOT extend the same ethical standards to aliens as they would to another volus, and that their definition of hostilities is far broader, with no clear beginning, middle, or end. To be fair, though, most volus would hesitate to attribute any kind of malice or bad faith to an alien who has otherwise treated them normally, and most of the time they're technical pacifists until you violate one of their unspoken rules.

* * *

 **The Clans**

Volus clans are a curious thing and have no real parallels with the clans of other alien cultures. All they share is a translation. Asari clans are essentially a cliquish mechanism of social control, a tool of the Thirty and nothing more. Turian clans, like their Families, are an archaic feudal holdover that their culture desperately clings to in order to provide some kind of tangible expression of honour so they don't fall back into just killing each other. Krogan clans are probably the closest analogue to volus clans in terms of purpose and social dynamics – giving allowance to their radically different psychologies – but in modern times krogan clans are little more than the remnants of a broken people and a doomed society. Humans clans simply aren't as influential in our civilisational history, relative to alien ones, of course. _( _Addendum: I'm sure some human reader who's oh-so-proud of their Celtic or Central Asian or Levantine ancestry is going to respond with a painfully dull counterargument about how human clans really do matter these days, but please, if all you've got is some historical footnotes from two thousand years ago then maybe just go sit down with a juice box and a biscuit whilst the adults are talking. -Tiffany_ )_

Volus clans are not like any of these. Volus clan existed in prehistoric times and have evolved and adapted and survived to this day, and there is good reason for this. Their clan structures are adaptable yet resilient, social yet self-sustaining, and are able to not only survive but thrive in an ultramodern society despite being almost unchanged for tens of thousands of years. A clan is essentially personal in terms of how individual volus interact with it on a day-to-day level, and most clannu are heavily associated with the clans that their respective members work for or are otherwise a part of, yet at the same time each clan is essentially a supranational economic, legal, and political body.

clans have their own legal personhood, tempered by the rights and responsibilities assigned to every volus Combine, and can be set up, run, and structured in an almost infinite variety of ways; all of these are designed to offer maximum flexibility and adaptability within every conceivable marketplace and operating environment, thus maximising value creation and return on investment. The largest and most influential clans can greatly affect mainstream volus society and culture, and can, with the blessing of the Proctors, negotiate directly with the Citadel and the various alien governments. clans make most other geographic, gender, racial, and social ties redundant (though to be fair every clan is inundated with the kind of maddening political manoeuvring and bullshit social drama that only a Dalatrass would enjoy).

On a personal level even the most unremarkable volus can overcome his or her background and erase most past errors by being invited into a clan they are well-suited for, but like all else in this galaxy it comes at a cost. Aligning yourself with a clan _will_ net you employment and opportunity as well as a vast network of contacts and resources, but you will now have to contend with the Byzantine world of internal clan politics and forever compete with all of the clan's rivals and business competitors. The potential for both greatness and failure is enormous, and it depends on just how much you're willing to risk.

* * *

 **The Clannu**

So, suggesting that clannu are just volus families is, I suppose, technically true. I _still_ don't like this definition, of course. It fails to capture the ways this deceptively simple construct shapes volus lives, and the equally surprising times when it doesn't matter at all. Just as batarians must walk a very fine line between boldness and caution, so too must volus balance their communal relationships and voluntary associations with the overwhelming hunger they all feel to maximise their worth as an individual. I suppose it is a concept that humans can at least understand on an intellectual level, and emotionally most of us can relate to this aspect of volus existence more so than, says, turians or batarians.

The fundamental and universal dynamic in all of these instances is the mutual sense of obligation and shame that arises from a familial unit bound by love and honour. Cultural and historical details will vary, but the story itself never changes. Volus experience these too, but their existence is expressed in a fundamentally _other_ and alien way, as if you've used two radically different programming languages to code an application for the same purpose. A volus parent will deliberately sabotage her child's first neighbourhood drink stand, just to teach them that business rivals can be ruthless and that disaster can strike without warning and that you had best adapt or die – and the child will _thank them for it_. Yet that same parent, if captured by pirates in the Traverse, will deliberately give her captors fake user information for the family trading accounts, knowing that any false entry will lock them out of the system and result in her brutal execution.

A clannu can be a nuclear family, a single parent and children, a newly bound couple, or a sprawling mess covering five generations and three degrees of separation. (Note that widows and single parents, especially, are quickly invited into the social life of neighbouring clannu, and do not stay alone for long, if at all.) Most are something in between, and do keep in mind that a clannu can also incorporate members who are not bound by blood or related to every member of the group – think of in-laws, bondmates, extremely close friends, honorary members, and so on. Still, in most clannu a good eighty percent of members will be close-ish relatives, and it's not unheard of for some volus to be a member of more than one clannu (some volus spouses choose to retain their previous clannu association, but most don't). To be a part of a clannu is to belong and to know your purpose.

For an alien to be invited into a clannu is a supreme honour. It hasn't happened very often – the last was about fifteen years ago when a young turian woman on the Citadel saved an entire volus family from being burned to death by a gas leak fire in the hotel she worked at – but when it does it makes news across the entire Vol Protectorate and is usually an excuse for a sombre ceremony followed by a raging party.

* * *

 **The Fallen**

The Fallen are simply those volus who have either willingly renounced the Vol Protectorate or who have been cast out. Think of them as them as the misfit, outcast volus who simply aren't compatible with mainstream volus society and you're not far off. These are to the volus as the wildcats are to us, as the separatists and outcasts are to the turians, as the Lythari are to the salarians, and as the Exodus are to the asari. There are several million Fallen, at least, and likely tens of millions, but compared to the billions that make up the general volus population these numbers are not particularly significant.

Whilst some of them can be very dangerous, most of them are just ordinary people in difficult circumstances trying to do the best they can – your average member of the Fallen clans is no more likely to be a killer or a hardened criminal than any wildcatter or turian outcast, though I will grant that they're a bit rougher and blunter than the average volus. Regardless, the Fallen are not exactly unified and they're certainly not an existential threat to the Vol Protectorate. In fact, almost all volus outcasts aren't even hostile to mainstream volus society, and vice versa. _( _Addendum: Irune does, however, see them as an unending annoyance and wishes they'd stop with their hysteria and return back to the fold. -Tiffany)__

There are several loosely associated Fallen clans, many of which are perfectly legitimate and integrated into mainstream society outside of Volus Space. The largest is the First Citadel Industrial and Commercial League-clan, based in Zakara Ward and boasting three hundred thousand members, though only a few thousand of these are present on the Citadel itself at any one time.

That said, the Fallen _do_ boast a disproportionately large percentage of criminals, anti-social elements, outright terrorists, and the like. Note that the majority of the Fallen are NOT Depthwalkers, but culturally speaking all Depthwalkers are by default considered spiritually Fallen even if they retain vol-clan connections and are not officially outcast. You will find a very large number of somewhere-on-the-spectrum Depthwalkers within the ranks of the Fallen, but for the most part most of them prefer to operate on the sly in volus society with some degree of legal cover. Depthwalkers unanimously reject all official clan associations in spirit if not in practise, and prefer to describe their own criminal organisations as 'commercial networks' and the individuals within them as a 'brother/sister of the Path' when talking to outsiders.

The largest Depthwalker association, known as 'The Empty Circle,' is headquartered on Noveria and has a number of secondary operations on the Citadel, Ilium, Bekenstein, and the Black Rim. The most powerful Depthwalker association, however, is based on Omega. We do not know if it has an official name, but it is led by Kaltoth the Depthwalker, who is a member of Aria's Circle of the Fallen. I discuss her in further detail in the section on volus Figures of Note.

* * *

 **The Ranks of Worth**

I don't know why people make such a fuss about the Ranks of Worth when it's clearly the clans that act as the gatekeepers of volus society. I suppose it's because the Ranks translate more cleanly to human cultural norms and too many of us see parallels with the turian meritocracy and our own Citizenship Tiers. To put it simply, these are _not_ alike. The Ranks of Worth are _internal_ clan rankings and have no value outside of that clan unless said clan has negotiated a mutual rank recognition treaty with various other clans. Oh, they haven't? Well then, it's an internal political matter and stays that way. Not to be too facetious – I will concede that the Ranks of Worth can be a serious matter within intra-clan politics and can absolutely affect the standing and fortunes of the volus within them, but they're not society-wide applications in the same way that our citizenship tiers are.

The Vol Court – and by extension the civil servant ranks of the Vol Protectorate – have a fairly rigid hierarchy of Ranks of Worth that have clear standards of conduct, responsibilities, and rewards, and the VDF itself has a similar system (theirs is called the Bloodied Ranks of Worth, whereas the Vol Protectorate system is the Collective Ranks of Worth). The Cloudseeker clan is also organised into the Ascended Ranks of Worth. These are the most relevant Ranks of Worth that most aliens will encounter in volus society, but all of the major clans have their own internal designations. In most clans, these are a strange mix of title, social role, and job description – though this may simply be how they are presented around aliens, and like so much of wobbly culture, it's entirely possible that there is a hidden meaning shared only amongst themselves.

I suggest that human readers review a quick primer on the Ranks and other internal politics of whichever major clan they plan on doing business with. It's unlikely to affect you too much, but one can never be too prepared, and your typical volus will be impressed and a little flattered if you address them by their proper clan title or gossip a little with them about the latest public clan dealings.

* * *

 **The Cloudseekers and the Book of Plenix**

A comprehensive research and analytical piece on the Book of Plenix – and volus spirituality in general – is, as with all other alien religions in the Cerberus Files, beyond the scope of this document. Indeed, stuffing these reports with tens of thousands of pages of painfully dry historical records and primary sources would defeat the entire purpose of a series of succinct and insightful executive summaries of the key aspects of alien civilisations. Your typical Cerberus operative simply doesn't _need_ this. What they really require is a practical grounding in xenology that equips them with the tools needed to grok an alien mind and culture in order to achieve their mission objectives and strengthen both the Dog and humanity as a whole.

With this is mind, I'll try and cover the most basic tenets of the Book of Plenix, how these in turn shape volus cultural structures, and the practical consequences this has for Cerberus operatives.

" _For Entropy is the Great Enemy and Creation the Great Sublime, so we say that the even the least of you who adds value to this world has added value to All Under Heaven, whilst you who takes value away and squanders energy has indeed spat upon all life and taken your first step into the forsaken Depths_ " – All Under Heaven, Verse 1, opening clause of the Book of Plenix.

I suppose that is as fine an introduction to the Path of Plenix as you'll find, and it's admittedly an excellent summary of the teachings of Plenix. Here's the full list:

* * *

 **The Path of Plenix**

 _The First Truth_ : Entropy is the Great Enemy and Creation the Great Sublime. To know the first is walk through the Depths. To know the second is to walk amongst the Clouds. To know both is to be Master of All Under Heaven.

 _The Hunger_ : As long as you live you are condemned to be free, and to hunger for the things you cannot have and cannot know. No matter how greatly you feast, you will never be sated. To exist is to experience diminishing returns, compounding suffering, and unlimited desire.

 _The Second Truth_ : To work is noble. To add value is transcendent. To squander energy and effort is monstrous. It is only by knowing and practising these truths that you can maximise returns, deleverage suffering, and corner desire.

 _The First Wisdom_ : Let you then seek out the Bounty of Life, to maximise value and bring forth the many triumphs and gifts and pleasures and pain therein. Let each volus seek out what bounty they would, so long as they do not interfere with the seeking of others, and let you go forth and trade and barter and profit most handsomely.

 _The Last Wisdom_ : Tend to your anima, for in doing so you will determine whether or not it walks over all the heavens or stays within this temporal realm for one more cycle. Treat your body as preciously as your own anima, for it lives within you and your body carries it. Treat the world around you as you would your own body, for it is here that you live and eat and drink, and so it is precious. Treat those within the world as they would treat you, and so through barter and companionship with your fellow traveller do you ease each other's burdens.

 _The Fallen_ : The path before you is treacherous, and you will be beset on all sides by the weak and the foolish and the debased. All of them are Fallen, by nature or by choice, and for those who refuse the Path of Plenix there can only be the Depths. Do not pity them; they chose to defile themselves. Do not forget them; their wretchedness is a lesson unto you. Do not forgive them; they have chosen to embrace Entropy, to Destroy when they could Create, and to squander Energy when they could add Value. The Depths they have chosen, and to the Depths you must send them.

 _The Coda_ : If tempted to destroy, choose to create. If gripped by despair, choose to add value. If death chases you, choose to celebrate life. If you must choose between your life and others, choose others most dear. If Entropy itself takes you by the hand and stands with you atop the Depths, beguiling you as it does the Fallen, choose to cast it and all who follow it into the abyss, lest it spread the abyss to all things. For Entropy is the Outsider, and outside it must remain, less all of value be lost.

 _The Most High_ : To be the Most High is to have walked upon every pebble of the Path of Plenix, to have aided everyone who travels it along with you, to have drunk deeply of the most splendid and just Bounties this life offers you, and to have made the highest net contribution to the closed energy system of this realm. You who can stand before Plenix and speak this truly will have reached the Most High Clouds of the Path of Plenix, and are now the Master of All Under Heaven.

Well then. There you go. The Book of Plenix and its associated commentaries discuss all aspects of the Path in laborious detail, but suffice to say that to be a religious volus is to walk the Path of Plenix and seek the wisdom of the Book of Plenix. Such practitioners are called Cloudseekers. These are further divided into the Devout, the Worthy, and the Most High. The Devout are simply any volus (and the small number of aliens) who practice this religion. The Worthy, otherwise known as Cloudwalkers, are those who have either devoted themselves to such practise full-time or who are otherwise heavily involved with the volus religion and its various associated works and clans, namely the Cloudwalker clan. To be considered Worthy, you must have accomplished appropriately worthy deeds, both quantifiable and acknowledged by those who are also Worthy. Finally, the Most High are those few volus Cloudwalkers who have spent their entire lives pursuing the Path of Plenix, holding very high Rank within the Cloudwalker clan, and who are generally considered the greatest, most accomplished, and wise practitioners. The Most High are thus the _de facto_ leaders of the volus religion within their society and on the galactic stage.

Compared to most alien religions – and certainly to the most important human faiths – in the modern age the ranks of the Cloudseekers are only loosely organised and outside of the Cloudwalker clan can barely be considered hierarchical. They don't claim any unimpeachable authority of the lives of any volus but themselves. They are not integrated into the VDF and serve no administrative or managerial role in the volus government itself. Their religious structure is entirely self-funding, and actually donates whatever small profits they make to various volus and alien charities (Uressa T'Shora is their largest recipient, not that she needs the money). Despite this, the Book of Plenix and the Cloudwalker clan are incredibly influential in volus society and are probably the most stable and long-lasting culture structure within their civilisation.

One last thing – I'd to cover the final Coda of the Book of Plenix, which touches upon the The Hunger, the Coda, and the Most High aspects of the Path of Plenix. I feel that human readers will probably find this to be the truest illustration of the sheer alien nature of volus spiritual life.

 _" _For you the living is condemned to be free. You were created, in the sense that you existed where before there was nothing, and yet you know not why. You did not create yourself, and yet you are utterly responsible for the execution of this existence you have inherited. That is your curse and your triumph. Know that despite all you know, and all you will ever know, it will never be enough. Even if you knew why you existed you would not be free from your own mind. You will always wonder why and you will always hunger for more. You will never be sated. It is only by the totality of the Path of Plenix that entropy may be kept at bay for a time_. It is only by the totality of the Path of Plenix that you can extract maximum value from this world and all others. It is only by the totality of the Path of Plenix that you will ascend and erase the hunger within you, and so experience the end of all things."_ -Coda 4, 'The End of All Things,' final clause of The Book of Plenix.

That is perhaps the most succinct insight I can offer my readers into the true nature of the Book of Plenix and what passes as the volus religion. It is not akin to any other mainstream spiritual movement in the galaxy. The final Codas are particularly odd, and there are certain parallels that can be drawn in a limited fashion from a handful of fringe practices: some extremist human ascetics, the esoteric existentialism of Matriarch Dilinaga, the fatalism of the Valluvian Priesthood, and the reductionist hyper-logic of some Wheel Priests. Ultimately these cannot fully capture the peculiar nature of volus spirituality. The Book of Plenix is a text that is at once as incredibly altruistic and life-affirming as it is unrelentingly bleak and metaphysical.

* * *

 **Concluding Remarks**

There is nothing I can add here that I haven't already discussed – frankly, my previous concerns are worsening. Volus culture has long fascinated me, since its structure is so timeless, yet its expression is so flexible, and the Book and Path of Plenix are some of the strangest expressions of religious development I've ever seen. (To be fair, the elcor are just as weird, if not more so.) Admittedly, rereading my father's notes on volus physiology lend a foundation to this, a certain sense of grounding. It makes sense that such a culture would arise out of a biology of distributed, fungus-like symbiotic organisms.

There is, no doubt, far more for us to discover here.

I'm rather interested to see what our Rasa makes of this. Despite being extremely creepy and dangerous, she is, admittedly, extremely perceptive and intelligent, and I'd like to have a professional conversation with her about these things without the risk of her going full-Rasa.

-Dr. Tiffany Minsta

* * *

"Unit Six, clear."

Tiffany frowned as she finished typing up her report, preparing to encrypt it before burning it to a crystal for transmission from her own ship. The hulking forms of Rasa's security unit were usually very circumspect, but also ever-present, even in the luxurious quarters afforded to them by the Plenxian Host of Hospitality.

The guard by the door was simply _huge_ – at least two point two meters tall and simply ripped head to foot with muscles. These were outlined in high relief by the skinsuit he wore under thick black armor plates strapped on here and there. His eyes were covered by a red-tinted cybernetic visor of some kind, and he had four _visible_ weapons on his person that she could see – and probably more she couldn't.

The Lost Boys were emotionless and cold, never speaking with her unless asked a direct question. She had no idea where the security team she'd come to Irune with had ended up, and asking Rasa only got her a slow, mocking smile that made her shudder to remember it.

She sighed and tapped the one-time pad generator, waiting as the encryption programs went to work on the document. She bent over to pick it up from the tray when the guard behind her stiffened.

"Unit Six, copy. Going hot." The guard shifted his heavy Harrier rifle and slid the safety off, even while he turned to face her. "Doctor Minsta. There's a security breach. We need to move."

She picked up the chip and stood, glancing around. "I haven't had time to wipe the console."

The man tilted his head and pulled something off his belt, placing it on the desk near the computer station. She swallowed as she recognized it as a remote-detonation explosive device.

"We need to move." With one meaty hand he guided her by the shoulder to the bedroom, where three more men were swiftly repacking her belongings. "Four, time to clear?"

The man known as 'Four' – a black man with a heavy beard that reminded her of Pel, but without that one's charm – held up three fingers. Six nodded and pushed her into the room with the other three. "Pack her belongings and keep an eye out. I'm going to find One."

Tiffany folded her arms. "What is going on, precisely?"

The empty mechanical gaze of Six met hers. "Kidnappers or assassins. Unsure. Outer security breach and this floor is compromised. Move out. Once clear, get her to the pinnace stat."

He left out the door, and she turned back to see her delicates being neatly packed into a carry bag that was handed to her. Confusion and fear made her waspish. "I wasn't aware hired guns knew how to pack panties and dresses so neatly."

Four said nothing – probably because, as she knew, he had no vocal chords or tongue – but the one known as 'Seven' spoke in a soft voice. "Rasa demands us to have many skills, doctor. If you wouldn't mind, please carry that one bag and go with Four and Nine. I'll stay here and gather the rest of your belongings and gifts."

She almost protested, but instead simply followed the whipcord figure of Four as he led the way out of the suite of rooms they'd been given, crossing the doorway quietly. The corridor beyond was lined with wooden paneling inset with lines of glowing eezo in dazzling nature scenes – the carpet, thick pile.

At the end of the corridor, a pair of dead turians lay awkwardly on the floor, a pool of blue blood and gore scattered around them. She bit her lip as the two guards turned her to the other direction, and she clenched her report tightly in her free hand as they hustled her along to the stairwell.

Nine tapped his earpiece. "Nine. Status?" He listened for several seconds. "Confirm."

He held up a hand, and then nodded. "Understood. Out." He turned to face her, and held out his hand. "Situation is under control. VDF is responding. We'll take you back to the room and you can settle back in."

She frowned. "…What happened? I'm guessing from the… mess it wasn't a false alarm."

Four gave her a thin, amused smile and drew a finger across the gory scars covering his throat, and Nine nodded. "One, Two, and Eight were able to neutralize the attackers."

She slowly followed them back down the short corridor, noting the bodies in the distance were now being stood over by another Lost Boy, Eleven. "And who was it?"

Seven met them at the doorway to the suite. "P. We've taken care of the issue. We're tracing comms and connections to see who was behind it. Orders now are to remain here and await Rasa."

She forced herself to exhale. If nothing else, Rasa had certainly taught her how to control panic and fear. Usually by scaring the shit out of her at unexpected times. "I see. We still have to get this report to Mr. Harper. Is one of you going to do that?"

Seven merely gestured her to enter the suite, and she did so, walking across the entry foyer to sit on one of the sinfully overstuffed couches and setting the carry-bag she'd been given to one side. She fixed her gaze on Seven and arched an eyebrow.

The man sighed and tapped his comm-link. "Principle requests status." He listened, then nodded slowly. "Copy."

He turned to Four and Nine. "Double up guards at the elevator and stairwell. Six is going up top for sniper overlook. Sixteen and Twelve are headed to the backup power generators, and One is working with the VDF. I'll stay here."

He turned to face her as the other two left. "Rasa will be here shortly, doctor. Please be patient."

'Patient' turned out to be three-quarters of an hour. She replaced her various belongings where they were, then turned on her omni to browse various news services – there was nothing about any gunfire or violence in the Vol Prime Station, of course.

She was about to return to the console to go ahead and begin the wipe routine before the door opened and admitted Rasa – in full armor splashed with blood and several capsules on her belt missing. She glanced over the room and brought her gaze to rest on Tiffany before nodding. "Your report?" Tiffany handed the report crystal to her, and she flipped it to Seven. "Six has an aircar. Get that to our own ship and use the QEC text-cryptor. Once done, incinerate the crystal."

Tiffany frowned. "I'm a little in the dark as to what _exactly_ is happening."

Rasa shrugged. "Something in your search has caused a reaction. Is the original report still on the console?"

She shrugged. "Yes, we had no time to wipe the console… one of your men put a bomb next to it."

Rasa vanished into the side room with the computers, leaving Tiffany to sigh and amuse herself with the latest downlinks from the museums she'd visited that day. A few minutes later, Rasa came back out, frowning very slightly.

"I have read it. Wordy, but insightful. However, nothing in it seems to be of much interest to someone like P., and that is the problem. Something does not make sense. P. gains no advantage from a risky and clearly aggressive move on the volus, not for you or anything you learned… unless there is something in what you gathered that is some kind of danger to him."

Tiffany rolled her eyes. "P. does not seem like the connoisseur of the arts that would make up the bulk of what I wrote on. It's societal data – I haven't even tried to find the political implications yet, much less military ones."

Rasa tilted her head, then nodded. "Then the story can only have one writer. Someone is threatened by what you do – enough so that the STG was willing to tangle directly with us to go after you hours after you first arrived, and now this."

The redhead began to pace slowly, and Tiffany merely watched. This was the first time she'd seen Rasa as anything but almost blankly and boredly competent and cool. The impulse for a bitchy jab was strong, but she suppressed that in favor of understanding. "You suspect a third party tipped the STG and is behind P.'s actions? Who?"

Rasa spread her right hand, long fingers splayed like claws. "Our employer has any number of enemies. And our… recent actions have no doubt attracted a great deal of hostile attention. The number of attackers is not nearly enough to indicate they – whoever they may be – are aware of my presence or that of my personal combat unit."

Rasa smiled at the younger woman. "So, they're looking for low-hanging fruit they can pull a snatch and grab on – or a quick kill. Both send certain messages. And when that didn't work, they went immediately for wet-teams. Curious. Whoever it was paid the volus to look the other way… or they were involved to begin with."

Tiffany gave her a blank look. "You think it's the _volus_ behind this?"

Rasa's smile was narrow. "I think if any race would see danger in our employer grasping how they work and what fractures in their society are vulnerable, it would be them. The volus, by your own words, have deceived and misled the Citadel races for centuries with their acting – someone may not want more direct attention laid upon them."

Rasa turned away. "Stories are like that, though. You expect one thing, and then the plot shifts and you aren't ready. Ultimately, I don't need the why to figure out how to proceed, only the who."

* * *

 **Message Header: HELNET BEGIN ENCRYPTION STRING**

 **NEGOTIATING ARBITRAGE HEADERS…CLEAR**

 **SYSFILL 8851241-SUB-TWO:** _Cross check complete_

 **SUCCUBUS-THREE-THREE :: RASA-33**

 **CREATING HANDSHAKE…ACKNOWLEDGMENT HANDSHAKE ACCEPTED**

 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: RASA**

Mr. Harper, we've had a minor security breach. No casualties.

At the moment, I have been unable to traceback the origins of such an event. Upon initial arrival I reported Tiffany Minsta had been targeted by STG sweep-teams, I assumed such was merely standing behavior.

Tonight, a four-person team of disgraced Blackwatch along with a pair of drell snipers tried to force entry to the compound on the station where we have been operating out of. If she'd been operating with a standard security force, this would be more than sufficient to have breached the compound and killed her.

I cannot believe the attack taking place when she was planning to transit from the compound to her ship to be coincidence. My personal secforce was able to terminate all hostiles, and we confirmed they were some of P.'s throwaway assets.

Having read the section in question, I cannot find a single reason why the girl would be targeted, or why it was done without any attempt at scouting to determine that my guards and I were present. (A six-person team to drop fifteen Lost Boys plus myself is insultingly stupid and I refuse to believe any professional intelligence service would do that.)

I'm requesting backup – the rest of my unit – as well as backup, if any is available. I'm unable to deduce if P. is acting on his own or was hired, or if that initial STG sweep was actually a tip-off.

I will keep you informed of status changes and have increased security as well as can be expected. The girl is coming along nicely. Pity she's so blonde.


	8. Chapter 8 : Volus Culture - Expression

**A/N:** _Once again the volus are brought to you, complete with their headpat terrorism, by the hand of_ ** _Jacob_** _._ _Next chapter of the main work is with the Editing Gang._

* * *

 **The Cerberus Files : Secondary Races**

* * *

 **Volus Culture – Expression**

* * *

 **MESSAGE HEADER: BEGIN HELNET ENCRYPTION STRING**

 **NEGOTIATING ARBITRAGE HEADERS…CLEAR**

 **HERA-ONE-SEVEN-FOUR: TIFFANY-174**

 **CREATING HANDSHAKE…ACKNOWLEDGEMENT HANDSHAKE ACCEPTED**

 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: TIFFANY MINSTA**

Sir,

We've had a few spots of trouble, that no doubt Rasa has informed you about. Her, ah, attachés seem to have resolved the issue with the usual brutal violence they evince so winningly.

Since that incident, we have not been disturbed, although per Rasa's recommendation I have withdrawn to the cruiser whenever it is time to pull together my reports. I apologize for the delay in getting this to you, but then again, watching Shepard rampage around the galaxy like a maddened voroxia bull has its own amusements, I suppose.

It's my pleasure to present to you my report on the expressive aspect of volus culture. You'll find that volus culture is far more pleasant and accommodating than the staid honour codes and self-inflicted violence of the birds, the jejune bitchiness and passivity of the blues, or the sterilised paranoia and insecurity of the greys. I certainly don't want to give you the impression that I'm celebrating the alien nature of the wobblies, or suggesting that their culture is overall superior to ours, but, like the elcor and perhaps the quarians, the volus are not an inherent long-term threat to our existence in the same way that the Big Three races so often are, and over time, I believe we'll be able to be drawn closer together and mutually benefit from our other-ness on the galactic scene.

You'll note that I haven't included too much extended commentary on the Cloudwalkers or the Path of Plenix. This is partly because I spent so much more time than I anticipated on the volus religion in the section on Cultural Structures. Beyond that, though, the Book of Plenix has been so overwhelmingly dominant that I'm not sure there's any real distinction between its history and the development of wobbly culture – there has only ever been ONE volus religion and at no point in their entire recorded history were there any competitors, or at least any that survived, which is frankly disturbing for a religion that otherwise claims to be so peaceful.

More to the point, so much of the very foundation of volus culture is effectively downstream of the structures that have been shaped and defined by the Book of Plenix. Take a look at the Four Codes, which are essentially the skeleton of volus social life, and tell me they aren't civilizational implementations of Plenixian principles. The volus like to scoff at the religiosity of the birds, the drell, and us, but their society is far more warped by their own monolithic faith than any of ours.

 **Cerberus Message of the Day:** _To prepare for the unexpected action from the alien, the best method is to manage their expectations of your own actions._

* * *

 **Volus Culture : the Four Codes**

' _To seek Profit [implied: Praise be to Plenix!]_ ': I apologize for the lack of an original volus phrase for this one… but that's the problem. There's not a single definition that fully captures this phenomenon or the overwhelming influence it has on volus culture. The wobblies have thousands of different phrases that describe every possible shade of purpose, desire, need, reason, time, event, and persons involved in seeking the Bounty of Life. There's one that describes your excitement at wanting to travel through alien space before you return to Irune and seek a mate to fulfil your clan obligations, and that you're pleased with both of these prospects and chose them willingly. There's another phrase that incorporates corrupted turian hastatim claw-script to express your desire to exact revenge on those who spoiled a treasured long-term investment that you'd set aside for your children, and that you neither desired this nor wish for blood to be spilled but it is written into the Book and now nothing can be done about it. There's one for everything.

Which brings me neatly to my next point: you'll have no doubt noticed by now that volus have a far, far more expansive definition of 'profit' than humans do (or any other species for that matter). Yes, it can mean what you think it means – making money on something – but it can also cover almost anything that a volus sees as being of net value, and more importantly, it covers the varying degrees and shades of value, and the relationships that make this possible. The object could be valuable to a subject, to their associates, to their employers, to their family, to entire worlds and species, or even to existence itself. The point is that the volus in question, as the 'factor' (translation: 'the protagonist of the contract execution and value creation') believes this bounty to be sufficiently valuable to the 'emptor' (translation: the 'client' – for want of a better word – 'of the contract execution and value creation') that the risk of energy loss is outweighed by the possible gains and the work is justified and thus profitable in a more literal sense. _( _Addendum: This is the short version, since none of my human readers want to slog their way through some thirty thousand-page magnum opus on Plenixian metaphysical econometrics from the volus Bronze Age. -Tiffany)__

I understand that this is extremely weird and difficult to relate to for most aliens – most turians especially are just psychologically and physically incapable of truly understanding the more esoteric volus worldviews – but here's the cheat code to volus metaphysics: always add more value to the system than you take from it. It's their Golden Rule.

' _Polda_ ,' literally " _hospitality_ ": Anyone who's encountered a volus has experienced polda for themselves. It's quite a broad term that covers several different meanings, referring to the rites of greeting and goodbye, the practice of hosting and entertaining guests, the simple act of gathering and preparing food for your clannu, the communal warmth and closeness of shared meals and camaraderie, and the art and science of throwing and attending parties. To be hospitable is considered well-mannered and mature, as well as an extension of your spiritual duties – many orthodox Cloudwalkers consider acts of hospitality to be the simplest and most direct manner of adding value to the lives of those around you on a daily basis. To be inhospitable, especially when you've already been treated to the hospitality of another, is considered extremely rude at best and outright hostile at worst, and will very quickly get you ostracised in volus society (or leave you the victim of some surprisingly brutal violence if you're dealing with a nastier, outcast volus).

Volus adore social gatherings and will throw a party given the slightest reason, inventing one if necessary or even joining in on alien celebrations that have nothing to do with them. Their language places a certain emphasis on purpose and intent, so the wobblies have words for every possible shade of social gathering. Obligatory visits that you don't really want to do but have to, working lunches with business acquaintances designed to test the waters (so to speak) and determine the possibility of a long-term relationship, a soirée whose true purpose is to bring you closer to someone you find attractive, a sombre visit to troubled clan members who've requested your assistance, a gathering designed to foster relations with aliens and put them at ease, et cetera.

The degree of expected revelry and effort is also included, so volus draw clear distinctions between the behaviour required of guests. 'Fik,' for instance, refers to a casual affair (generally only two to five people) held early in the morning in a small and intimate environment where you're expected to enjoy sweet pastries and stimulating drinks as you catch up with old friends and/or family; it carries connotations of warmth, contentment in your place in life in that moment, and a faint sense of nostalgia. A 'qolqol,' on the other hand, is a raging and utterly debauched party that can last for days and typically ends in a mass of intertwined bodies, beats, and banned substances; in modern times it carries connotations of relief, celebration, and oddly enough, aliens, since they're normally thrown on key volus holidays on the Citadel and are seen as a useful diplomatic tool.

Polda can have a darker inflection to it as well. It can refer to some contexts of socialising where volus are publically expected to maintain a certain studied nonchalance in the face of danger, and especially when outsiders are present. In these cases, volus are required to present their best polda and put on a good show, under no circumstances allowing outsiders to discern their true state of mind or thoughts. This may seem disingenuous, but I can assure you it has a sound basis in their cultural development – if you've got a lot of serious issues going on behind the scenes then you sure as hell don't want outsiders (read: rival clans and competitors, or alien brutes who cannot be expected to abide by civilised volus norms) figuring out what's really going on and ruining you. You can see this in the boardroom – your company is overleveraged and too exposed to high-risk markets – and even in the VDF – you're outnumbered and lack adequate intelligence on the target – but the behaviour is exactly the same: if there's outsiders present, you act like it's all part of the plan, that you're still firmly in command, and that you've got this covered. In private, with people they trust, volus tend to be much more candid and revert back to their usual pragmatic realism.

Amusingly, you can also witness more immature efforts at polda-as-fronting by younger volus, mostly in gambling halls, bars, and marketplaces. If you've ever visited Zakera Ward or the more genteel parts of Ilium and witnessed some barely-adult wobbly trying to flex his wallet on some cute blue or a quarian on pilgrimage, you'll know what I'm talking about. The really crazy ones will try to impress a mercenary company or Depthwalker collective in the same manner, which ends about as well as you'd expect it to.

' _Kish_ ,' literally " _duty_ " or " _obligation_ ": Kish is highly dependent on social context and cannot be separated from the clan or clannu associations of the volus in question. It's also possible that aliens may be involved, but that kind of thing is usually handled on a case-by-case basis by individual volus and most of the time doesn't carry the more formal requirements of volus affairs. Kish, being volus notions of duty and obligation, are often misunderstood by outsiders, who are either far too clinical in their search for its meaning or otherwise treat it like the emotionally charged blood-feuds of the krogan or the stiff honour code of the turians. Volus duty isn't quite like those, and the wobblies view it more as a cross between religious obligations, a great burden to bear, and laws of the universe.

Kish is why you see your mate's relatives six times a year even though you despise them for thinking you were never good enough and that their brilliant child settled for so little. It's why you never say that to their faces, but instead smile and laugh and thank them for having you. It's why you at least try and make your children see them in a better light than they ever saw you.

Kish is why you spend so much time and money aiding alien charities in the Zakera Ward despite your peers thinking it a poor investment and your alien colleagues not taking your contributions seriously, because many decades ago a charity just like this gave you your first paid internship and taught you the basics of the business you thrive in today.

Kish is why you did the unthinkable and took your liquid assets to that Citadel representative of those Fallen Vol-clan, requesting that they execute a vendetta contract on the clonelegging outfit that gunned down your C-Sec partner. That both parties would be utterly discreet is, of course, unspoken – you are both volus and you both understand. You nod, they nod, the contract now signed moves from your hand to theirs, and it is done, and your obligation fulfilled.

Kish can be all of these things, or anything in between. To resist your duty or turn away from an obligation is as pointless as fighting gravity.

' _Girin_ ,' literally " _reciprocity_ ": In the day-to-day lives of most volus, girin is fairly straightforward. Friendships are based around reciprocal affection, understanding, and shared pleasures. Your relationship with your mate is reciprocated love, likewise with your children. When Vidon Marr offered to aid Shepard in her assault on Ilos (and the geth who protected it), it was not solely because he had been ordered to do so by the VDF or the Council – it was because Shepard had aided him in bringing to justice those who had murdered his VDF brothers and sisters and slaughtered the merchants he was charged with protecting. That she did so unknowingly, and when she could have easily dismissed or ignored volus concerns when it suited her, with absolutely no political ramifications, was not lost on him. She could have treated him like that, but she didn't, and so, volus culture demanded that he reciprocate this consideration and aid her in her time of need. This is girin.

In terms of business, girin is most often intertwined with kish, in the sense that duty or obligation should be reciprocated. You treat your employees well and expect them to be hardworking and loyal in return – your success is thus their success and vice versa. You honour your contracts and expect others to do so as well. You punish those who violate this principle for the same reason: they chose to breach this unspoken contract, and so ultimately, they have chosen to reap the consequences you're about to unleash upon them, and rightfully so. To violate girin is to corrode individual relationships and to debase the full faith and credit of the Vol-clan. When you violate girin, you gain nothing but shame and profit no one but Entropy. You can see why volus take such things so seriously.

On a metaphysical level, there is a strong thread of consequence and causality implied by the functioning of girin within the universe. Essentially, this is the metaphorical volus equivalent of the law of thermodynamics that states that for every reaction there is an equal and opposite reaction. The volus take this otherwise purely physical law a step further, implying that said equal and opposite reaction need not take place in the same system, dimension, time, or even universe as the initial action. Furthermore, this law is not limited to physical actions, and extends equally to ethical and spiritual actions, the latter of which are not bound by time or space but instead resonate through both for as long as existence continues.

Curiously, the more metaphysical aspects of girin are debated rather heavily within the galactic philosophical scene. (The 'scene' is 99% sad people on the extranet and 1% actual scholars and philosophers, but still.) Asari and elcor are quite comfortable with the concept, since it tends to reinforce their unified concepts of existence. Most salarians are ambivalent, enjoying the intricate, overarching nature of girin, but furiously rejecting any kind of implied moral judgement. Turians rationalise the whole thing according to their understanding of the spirits, of course, seeing their ancestors as the ultimate judges of all actions at all times. Batarians just shrug and think you're too much of a pussy to handle the balls-out majesty of the Dark Gods, so you should probably just go kill yourself and save them the effort. Most humans aren't too bothered by the mechanics of girin, finding the underlying sense of order comforting and perhaps evidence of God, but as a rule, we tend to hate the fact that it isn't all about us. _(Addendum: Whilst every species has debated the existence of a multiverse, humans are the only one that has ever thought that every single one of those universes somehow contains an alternative version of us. Sometimes the narcissism of my own species is genuinely depressing. -Tiffany)_

* * *

 **Volus Culture : the Four Delights**

We begin with a brief note on translation. I've decided to include two separate translations, both in English, of the Four Delights. The first translation is the one I've deemed most appropriate in conveying the immediate meaning of the phrase in question – the 'spirit of the phrase,' if you will – whilst the second translation is more literal and expansive. I suspect that this will better serve operatives in the field, compared to a phonetic rendition ripped straight from an omni-tool, offering both a quick best-fit for immediate use and a more nuanced explanation to review at your leisure.

' _The Culinary Arts_ ,' literally " _that which delights the tongue_ ": This will shock you, I know, but volus love food. They love all kinds of food, they love the things you drink with food, they love the people you do these things with, they love the presentation of food, and they love the ambience and the locale you eat food in. Food is generally seen as the lubricating agent of volus social life and community, it's almost always the key symbol of their hospitality and religious rituals, and it's instrumental in maintaining business relationships.

This foodie obsession is perhaps explained by the fact that fats - as we know them - don't exist in wobbly biochemistry, so they have to be eating all the time in order to provide themselves with energy.

Volus cuisine is surprisingly varied, thanks to the abundance of microclimates and biodiverse ecosystems present on Irune. Most of these aren't easily digested by humans _(Addendum: Read: don't eat them you idiots, you'll die, it'd be like munching down a box of laundry pods. -Tiffany)_ _,_ but there are a few bi-chiral sauces and drinks that aren't a bubbly container of hazard warnings, so have at it. It's also possible to chemically treat a small number of volus foodstuffs in order to make them fit for human consumption, though this can affect flavour and texture. Human-friendly volus MREs are also an option, but no one outside of the wildcat colonies actually chooses to dine on those.

There are several main food classifications on Irune, regardless of biome, and honestly, most of these don't really translate well into human cultural norms. First off is your land-based vegetation and forest growth; these can range from extremely dense 'mats' of tough leafy greens and tubers, to vast fungal towers and tree-like structures made out of tough yet flexible honeycombed… moss-creeper-things. Most of these have very basic gel-stems, somewhat akin to a nervous system. They can't feel pain (we think) and they obviously aren't sapient, but they can demonstrate certain instinctual behaviours and defences against predators. For example, if a grove of fungal towers is being overgrazed by a herd of vau herbivores, the trees will release an airborne pheromone that attracts predators likely to spook the vau away; vau, in turn, will slowly experiment and try to figure out the optimal grazing limit before moving on to the next grove.

These foods tend to be eaten raw or are otherwise chemically treated in some way (generally a light chemical bath or steaming), and are typically served together, since their flavours complement one another. Some of the fungal towers are fairly similar to Earth mushrooms in terms of flavour, and can range from light and neutral to intensely sweet to floral and aromatic, and are often used as a basis for vegetable stocks. However, there are plenty of them that are hot enough to cause third-degree burns (in a human at least, and to top it off you'll die from ammonia poisoning), or that will explode or become highly corrosive in standard atmospheres. _(Addendum: Fun fact: Most volus salads are classified as ad hoc explosive devices by C-Sec customs and cannot be carried on your person on the Citadel. -Tiffany)_

Moving on, there is a striking variety of fruit-like pods (flowers too) and also seeds that volus cultivate en masse to act as the foundation of their diet; these vary enormously by region, but most offer a hearty shot of complex carbohydrates, very high levels of protein (and some kind of crystalline compound that we can't identify which appears to be critical for volus nerve system operation), and various vitamins and minerals, including trace elements of iron, magnesium, and titanium. Note that these carbs and proteins are analogues, in the sense that these substances perform a roughly similar role in the wobbly diet that they do in ours, but they are not the same thing. Don't eat wobbly food, people. You'll die. Horribly.

The seeds tend to have a toasted, nutty flavour and a surprising umami depth, and are excellent at absorbing other flavours and acting as a base for more complex dishes. The pods have a greater variety, and can range from dessert fruits to more savoury fare to the extremely intense inland subspecies, normally concentrated into an extract and used as a flavouring agent or sauce base. There are even 'recreational' varieties that offer the user powerful psychotropic upper and downer effects. The seeds are usually cooked like rice or ground into flour to make dough for dumplings and pastries, which volus love.

Finally, there are a number of stunning coral-like biological growths present on Irune; these are most common in the coastal areas (and near any body of ammonia), but you can also find specialised genus that have adapted to live in caves, canyons, volcanic regions, mountain peaks, et cetera. Most of these have a coral-like appearance, but texture and material can vary, from sponge-like to a resinous hardness to a dense foam to something almost like cheese (with acidic sap). Again, life on Irune is strange and doesn't really translate into Earth terms. Most of the regular coastal varieties are marinated to tenderise them before they're pan-fried or grilled, but the foam varietals are reduced and used as a base for strong, aromatic pastes (almost like a curry). Finally, there's a range of edible animals on Irune. Vau are widely considered a delicacy, but given their gentle nature, quite a few volus prefer to keep them as pets, and their powerful toxins mean that if you haven't perfectly cut and prepared them, you'll likely be poisoned. There's also a range of domesticated livestock and aquaculture sea life, almost none of which is ever seen or exported outside of Volus Space, but meat only makes up twenty to thirty per cent of the average volus's diet, and a good fifth of the species are vegetarian.

Volus cuisine does not have any formal courses or any formal mealtimes. Most volus are prone to snacking, and will generally have six meals a day, which is needed given their caloric requirements. Regardless of what time they're eating at, even the most basic volus meal with consist of several complementary and contrasting dishes, generally of simple preparation and elegant presentation, along with a number of condiments and accompaniments. Naturally, these will be served with drinks. Volus dining is an exciting mix of casual and formal. Casual in the sense that ultimately, you're all there to enjoy yourselves and partake in one of life's greatest bounties – that of good companionship enhanced by the culinary arts – and so long as you're on board with that, volus will overlook most cultural faux pas, especially if you're an alien. 'Formal' in the sense that much of it is defined by rituals that haven't changed for thousands of years: there are the obvious offers of hospitality, but also the intricate ceremonies involved in pouring drinks and serving the 'little bites,' the toasts that so often accompany 'the gloried bites,' and, of course, the accompanying conversation.

Volus love to talk almost as much as they love to eat and make a profit, so if you're dining with them expect to be drawn into some lively conversations, full of back-and-forth opinions, arguments, counterarguments, gossip, and general banter. (Whilst younger asari generally don't have time for volus, older asari are often fast friends with them on the social scene, since they both delight in dinners and parties like this.) If it's a special occasion, then expect there to be plenty of 'recreational compounds' floating around. You'll probably be dragged out to the dance floor too. It's okay if you're not always in the mood for this kind of thing – most volus understand how life's burdens can weigh upon you and so long as you fulfilled your obligation to attend and partake, then you're clear.

' _The Visual Arts_ ,' literally " _that which delights the eyes_ ": There is damn good reason why the Arnaksha Temple region in Irune's western hemisphere has been listed as a Citadel Cultural Heritage Site for the last thousand years. Roughly the size of Ireland and visible from high orbit, the entire area is covered in an increasingly intricate series of geometric patterns, stylised equations, and mathematical motifs, all made from coloured sands that have been fused into glass and crystal, and in turn, juxtaposed with carefully cultivated organic sculptures and growths. At the centre of the region lies the Temple itself - a vast, hollowed-out mountain complex carved by hand over thousands of years. Inside lies the earliest known stone tablet carving of the Book of Plenix, along with the most well-preserved Bolo paintings on Irune. A Bolo painting is an intricate and eerily beautiful series of patterns and stylized personifications painted using bone ash and vivid oils on specially treated and ritually purified volus skins. Given the thickness and malleability of volus skin, Bolo canvasses are carefully stretched out and can cover several square metres. They are uncommon and considered sacred. It is a humbling and deeply moving place.

Curiously, given my father's comments on the nature of volus statues, the Arnaksha Temple also houses the oldest such statues on Irune, dating back tens of thousands of years. Aliens are permitted to see them, on exceptional occasions for exceptional aliens, but under no circumstances are they allowed to be alone with them.

How strange.

The Arnaksha Temple is universally considered to be the pinnacle of volus visual art design and technique, and rightly so, but there are plenty of other examples that are much more common within their culture, and also much more accessible for aliens. Whilst Bolo paintings are a rare and extremely time-consuming and expensive process, regular volus paintings using standard omni-gel canvases are much more common. These will typically use the same intricate patterns and shapes, almost always symmetrically, and are generally either etched by laser (if uncoloured) or painted by hand using the vibrant coloured (and slightly corrosive) oils that are so quintessentially Irunian. Particularly flamboyant wobblies will even have such designs commissioned for their personal suits! _(Addendum: And now you have an explanation for why you see wobblies strutting round the Citadel in suits that looked like Michelangelo fucked a clownfish on a rainbow. -Tiffany)_

Sand art is also wildly popular. This is perhaps unsurprising given that Irune has a tremendous variety of naturally occurring coloured sands and stones, as well as a vast number of stained crystalline bio-structures. For a world that seems so hellish and ugly at first glance, it really can shock you with moments so beautiful they leave you breathless. Art collectors should note that most of these substances are often unstable or dangerous to handle outside of Irune-standard atmospheres. Anyway, like us, most volus view sand art as temporary – it serves to perfectly capture a specific moment in the flow of time, or a specific event or mood or artist. For this moment to have any real meaning, it must be seen to end, and thus, be remembered (a weird parallel with most drell art, right there). That said, there are some volus who will capture the moment on film, perhaps having a print or a portrait ordered, and a few will even go so far as to make full 3D recordings and haptic VI interactions for an art installation they deem worthy. Most traditionalist critics consider this grossly trashy and frankly offensive, but more progressive volus artists consider it merely a natural innovation born of the free market between producers and consumers, and that therefore it may actually be blasphemous for anyone to intervene.

' _The Sonic Arts_ ,' literally " _that which delights the ears_ ": Volus music is so underrated and underappreciated. It's slowly gathering more of a following on the galactic scene, though, and it's popular with human musical theorists and dancers (including yours truly), most elcor, and, of all people, batarians. As with most of their primary art forms, there was a great deal of regional variation in volus music earlier on in their history, but in modern times, these styles have long since fused together and it is only in the ranks of the Cloudwalkers, the Fallen, and a handful of ancient clans where you'll find truly historical forms. Like batarians, volus are baffled by the idea of a human album or record release. They see anything like this as an artificial construct that strangles the vision and commercial potential of the artist, so most volus artists just release a steady stream of new material throughout their careers, experimenting quite a bit with new sounds and styles, and when they tour they'll just choose whatever they feel is appropriate to play.

Music is instead categorized by sound-form and the age of the artist at the time of release. Volus sound-forms are often treated as genres, but this isn't entirely true – whilst they do include details regarding the overall 'style' or commercial market of the piece, they also include such things as the lineage of the instruments used, the distinct regional styles involved (if any), notes on any emotional or personal subjects discussed (if any), a specific listening purpose, and even tasting notes for recommended food and beverages to snack on whilst listening. For example, the sound-form known as 'haddakin' is an aggressive style, driven by blast beat percussion and shifting female harsh vocals, born from the central mountain regions, with the track production altered by semi-crystallised cloud formations at high altitude (if it's an authentic recording, at least), normally discussing the ecstasy and agony of family obligations, and recommended to be listened to alone in a darkened room, paired with very strongly flavored food and drinks.

Well then… there you go.

On the other hand, there are much more accessible sound-forms like 'trapslide,' which is normally a hot blur of smooth bass lines and infectious melodies that's all the rage on Citadel dance floors right now.

There are several hundred recognised sound-forms in volus culture, and a number of daring human and turian artists have actually tried blending these with the musical styles of their respective species.

' _The Commercial Arts_ ,' literally " _that which delights the coin purse_ ": Unlike humans, volus do not see any distinction or inherent conflict between profit and art. Profit is both expected and desired, being seen as the natural extension of the craftsman-like approach professional volus artists take to their work. Indeed, in their opinion, the two go together like drinking and gambling – because if the pursuit of profit is an art form, then why should anyone deny you the bountiful fruits of your artistic labours? The concept isn't entirely alien to our kind – half the CEOs on the Corporate Court would cheer this kind of thinking on – and it's certainly well-received in human business circles, but only volus elevate such things as negotiation, haggling, intercultural commerce, and business administration and leadership to the position of virtues and noble callings.

This kind of behaviour begins at a very young age. Volus parents will often take their toddlers down to the local bazaar and encourage the children to play guessing games over the marked price, the cost price, the expected profit margin, the craftsmanship, and even the supply chain of various goods and services, and volus vendors will often engage in some good-natured and jokey bargaining with the children over sweets or trinkets they keep aside solely for this purpose. It's all a part of the convivial atmosphere of these places.

Once they get older, perhaps when they're the equivalent of volus teenagers, their parents will travel with them to an alien market or an orbital trade station (the Citadel if they can afford such a thing) and engage in serious haggling, people-watching, and other pursuits designed to challenge the young volus, giving them a taste of dealing with aliens and also experiencing deals and situations go awry.

'Is that Sur'Kesh-clan just twitchy and nervous by nature, or is it a tell that he's desperate for a deal or perhaps trying to play you?'

'Careful with Dekuuna-clan, son, unless you know what to look for, their body language is very hard to read when they don't want you to read it.'

'That Earth-clan looks depressed – why? Rejected by that giggling maiden over by the fountain? Should you take advantage of his suffering or see if you can bring him relief and you profit, for the good of all?'

Decisions, decisions. They view failure as a teacher, one whose punishments are not designed to make you suffer, but to make you learn from suffering, even if the lesson is that sometimes you just have to take losses and never give up.

Generally speaking, volus are extremely suspicious of any artist who works for free or as part of a collective (though working for free is definitely worse). They see the first as delusional and a bit pathetic, whereas the second is obviously some communist bullshit designed to erase any kind of exceptional individuality. Casual observers often point out that volus clans (and Guilds, in ancient times) are effectively a form of collective action, but this is a somewhat jejune and trite 'insight.' Just because volus treasure the value and potential of the individual does not mean that they seek an atomised society of parts cut off from the whole. They don't. Volus community is defined by the way it enhances self-actualisation as volus perceive it. You might see the Vol Protectorate as an entire civilisation captured by private interests and recoil, but a volus just sees voluntary associations of individual actors in free markets that fuel creativity, originality, and value creation. You look at revolutionaries throughout human history and see noble souls fighting for social justice, but a volus only sees collectivist tyranny whose true evil purpose is to destroy the spirit of man and usher in an age of homogenised darkness and civilizational decay.

* * *

 **Volus Culture : Entertainment and Sports**

Televised, live, or haptic art is not considered one of the Four Delights and so most volus do not give these the same degree of attention. This is not to say that volus don't enjoy these things. They do. Salarian crime dramas are very popular – especially their legal, forensic, and high finance thrillers – and most volus secretly enjoy lurid turian soaps (including, yes, Fleet and Flotilla). They're also rather fond of human comedies and children's programming, having even licensed a few of our shows and touring acts. _(Addendum: You have no idea how unsettlingly weird it is to turn on a haptic display in high orbit over Irune and see an all-volus production of 'Big Bird goes to the First Bank of Vol Prime.' -Tiffany)_

Volus have their own productions, of course, and sadly, these don't get enough airtime outside of Volus Space. Volus don't really see any hard distinction between comedy and drama in the same way that humans do, and they tend to sort their thespian and literary arts by the principle source of conflict or action, rather than by the mood it is intended to provoke in the audience.

The most common form, for instance, is 'girinkon' – which refers to plays or films et cetera which revolve around matters of obligation and duty to clan and clannu, or even to aliens in modern times. Such a show could be anything from a hilarious comedy of manners, where the hapless volus main character (and his stick-up-the-arse turian sidekick) is caught up in an increasingly ridiculous series of misunderstood cultural expectations… or it could be an utterly haunting treatise on the nature of duty to loved ones long-dead in a cruel and amoral universe that we don't and perhaps can't understand.

Another popular form is the 'jokunana-yarl,' or "to clasp the shoulder of the natural word," which are almost always beautifully animated pieces that explore the relationship between civilisation and the natural world from which we all came. There are several dozen other primary dramatic forms, all of which I feel are worth listening to at least once.

It should come as no surprise that gambling is by far the most popular volus recreational interest, and it really doesn't matter if they're games of skill, chance, or both – if you've got smooth beats, a lively crowd, and complimentary drinks, then you'll find herds of wobblies there. In the same spirit, volus love the GASCAR circuit almost as much as salarians do. The adrenaline rush of watching drivers make split-second decisions in six hundred KPH eezo-powered race cars, the spectacle and carnival atmosphere of the crowd, the showmanship of the announcers and MCs, the excuse to drink and eat all day, and best of all, the opportunity to run betting pools and model the behaviour of millions of punters – volus just can't resist.

Strength training and powerlifting are the most popular volus forms of exercises, but wrestling and similar martial arts that rely on leverage, a keen understanding of biomechanics, and positional skill are also very widely practiced. (Note that this is aided by the extreme flexibility of volus anatomy.) The pressurised, high-g nature of Irune makes simply walking the fields for an hour a fairly intense cardio workout, but in Citadel-standard atmospheres – and always when travelling, for business or pleasure – volus (and especially volus couples) enjoy walking, often incorporating such exercise into their existing schedule. Their suits, which contain a full hygienic suite, mean that such tasks aren't even that inconvenient for them, and they can go straight from an intense exercise session to a boardroom meeting with no one the wiser. Hikes or day walks through forests and plains are very popular, for both aesthetic and cultural reasons (it harkens back to the days of traditional clan merchant caravan routes), and volus also enjoy snorkelling and diving on coral reefs (though that's a rather expensive and luxurious hobby to have for most volus, given the galactic travel and specialised equipment it requires).

Airship racing, either on Irune or in gas giants, is also a popular sport amongst volus… though most will not directly partake in it themselves, since it makes GASCAR look like a quiet day at the library. There are multiple categories of race and craft, normally sorted by construction and drive type; you can have solar sail, prop-driven, or jet-driven craft, and the more extreme races will make use of ramjets or even pulse detonation or ion drives, which is _fucking insane_. Eezo cores are only allowed for gravity manipulation and fail-safe purposes, and any unauthorised use of eezo propulsion is grounds for disqualification. Illegal races are extremely common (these will allow the use of weapons and violence), as are illegal drivers (bioaugments, cyborgs, mutant vorcha, VIs, et cetera), and even illegal bets (betting with sapient beings, illegal substances, and whatnot) and illegal actions (insurance and gambling fraud, sabotage, all that). That said, there is a growing trend for alternate races featuring space-worthy sporting pinnaces and whatnot; these tend to be much safer craft, but to make up for it (and to make it more exciting for spectators) most wobbly producers will stage the race in an asteroid field or a nebula. The truly crazy ones will organise a race in the Terminus Systems, so if your idea of a good time is strapping an experimental frigate core to a tricked-out pinnace and dodging the Black Fleet, have at it, you absolute madman.

Most ordinary volus find the prospect of mountaineering, diving or caving to be unsettling at best – the highest and lowest regions of Irune are widely regarded by xenoplanetologists as the most dangerous areas on the planet, full of hostile terrain and deadly microclimates, and crawling with the most fearsome predators. Only VDF survival trainees and certifiably crazy people willingly enter those places. There are wobblies who do a lot of underwater mountaineering, but you'll note that they sure as hell don't do that on Irune. Why? Because that's how you get eaten by a kelp strider or an eight-limbed bonesaw colossi. That said, more and more volus are willing to experiment with these things outside of Irune, and even on Irune it isn't so much the landscapes themselves that spook them as the predators lurking around the place.

* * *

 **Volus Trade Culture : the Combines**

So, you've all heard of the Elkoss Combine, right? Of course you have. You can't turn around in Citadel Space without bumping into some product or service they've got their chubby little paws in. Fresh food, water purification, waste management, shipping (both light and bulk), consumer electronics manufacturing, omni-gel production, fusion reactor design and operation, pet food, mineral mining and processing, retail services, personal and commercial banking, agriculture and livestock management, journalism, childcare, haptic entertainment – the Elkoss Combine is one of the largest businesses in the galaxy, and certainly the largest privately owned and operated one. They do everything, but what is truly important isn't the goods and services they provide – it's the structure and purpose behind them. Same with all the other combines, even the smaller, more specialised or even criminal ones; most aliens look at the Elkoss Combine, the Rol Collective, or the Marr Defence Manufactorum and see totally separate businesses run by totally different people for totally different purposes. Volus see the same damn thing in each of them.

But what exactly is a 'combine'? Asari would probably draw parallels with the famed city-state councils of Thessia – Armali Council, Serrice Council, and so on – but that's not quite right; councils are ultimately political tools that publically serve to unify asari and privately serve the whims of the Thirty. Krogan would consider them a weird alien version of a commercial Crush, which does at least convey the way that clans are intertwined with the running of combines. Humans would probably compare them to the Korean chaebol and Japanese keiretsu of antiquity, or perhaps the current corporations of the Corporate Court of the Systems Alliance. In practice, the former is more accurate than the latter, but that is like saying that volus markets and human markets are akin: superficially true, but woefully incapable of conveying just how much more advanced and sophisticated the volus equivalent really is in practice.

A combine is a legally recognised entity - registered in Volus Space and headquartered on Irune - which combines a staggering range of legal, financial, commercial, social, political, and even military functions into a single organism. It is designed to be as scalable and adaptable as possible, and is actually structured as a cloud – units and groups within the combine's structure can subdivide or merge like cells in a body, in real-time, in response to changing environmental conditions. The evolutionary record of the combine, such as it is, is stored both privately within the combine's blockchain datasphere and also (for any legally required reporting purposes) in the archival blockchain array on Vol Prime. Units that have remained stable for long periods of time are referred to as 'nodes,' and these generally serve as the focal points for shunting resources and personnel to the more rapidly shifting groups that operate in a discrete market space.

There are normally several dozen nodes within a combine, and most volus employees will quickly find themselves working as a part of many different units and groups for many different nodes over time, but always for the same combine. Typical nodes include the executive node (made up of the highest ranking directors of the combine), legal and banking nodes (which pretty much explain themselves), a logistics node (covering advanced manufacturing, raw resource acquisition, and galactic shipping), a technology node (handles research and development, provides communications and information technology support, oversees cyberdefenses), a marketing node (responsible for market research, penetration, and domination of alien and volus markets), a cultural attaché node (mostly dealing with volus matters of clan and clannu, but also liaising with aliens), and a business intelligence node (read: anything from industrial espionage and counterintelligence to political and information warfare to psychological operations to outright sabotage, piracy, assassination, and terrorism in the more disreputable outfits) . These nodes together form the 'profit-stem' of the combine, what we would call the heart of it.

There's no bureaucracy or managerial structure or any other bullshit to get in your way. It's a fluid network where various units or groups within the combine will simply let it be known that they are available for work, you select the most suitable ones from a display as you sip your drink in the reception hall, and then they form a working node on the spot, complete with full legal personhood and representation, predetermined overheads and costs, immediate access to capital and business intelligence, and full access to galactic markets already in place. Volus combines, and thus their business operations, are an order of magnitude more sophisticated than clumsy human corporations in the same way that optronics is more sophisticated than vacuum tubes or an FTL drone is more sophisticated than a flock of carrier pigeons.

Compare and contrast to what it's like for your average human businessperson. A human corporation sees an opportunity to market their product in Citadel Space. Say they're trying to sell mechs, or music, or clothing, doesn't matter. Before that corporation is even founded, the would-be owners have to go through a Byzantine mess of registration paperwork, dozens of interviews and presentations for any real financing, background checks with human and alien security services and regulators, government interference at every turn, constant dealing with your solicitors and accountants – and this is before you've even started your business. After that, you start again with vetting and hiring people, establishing relationships with retailers and shipping companies and producers, and so on. It doesn't end, and then on day one you'll be competing against a mass of alien businesses that are already well-established in your field. The SA likes to tout the small number of human businesses that achieve great success, but what you never hear about is that almost all of them will fail in the first five years, and out of the ones who do succeed, almost half of them will be bought out by asari or volus. Assume the other half were hacked by the STG.

Now look at a combine and see how it works for them in a similar scenario; whether or not the combine itself decides to make a move into the market space, or if someone comes to them first with a business proposal, is irrelevant – the end result is the same. Within ten minutes of you shaking hands (or paws, or talons, or whatever) with the relevant node director the contract has already been entered into the datasphere blockchain, all legal entities have been registered and approved by the Vol Protectorate for the expected duration of the venture (with options on extensions, clawbacks on anyone who backs out, and investor protections included by default), and whatever capital you need is being transferred as you speak, through pre-set routes designed to minimise tax exposure.

For a competitive fee, the combine can offer you optional ad hoc legal, accounting, marketing, intercultural liaison, translation, shipping, and security services, all taken care of in-house by subcontractors who specialise in their respective fields. Within four hours, you've already organised any market-specific professional services, all of which are handled using standardised contracts with volus guild clans who focus solely on whatever it is you're hiring them for; they have connections and relationships already in place throughout Citadel Space and charge a small retainer fee and a per use fee for their services. (In the largest combines, all of this will probably be taken care of in-house.) Within eight hours, volus just-in-time omni-foundries are making your product and their freighters are undocking, or they're already booking clients for your services. You might sell directly to the public or you might operate through an asari or turian or salarian front – the wobblies don't care as long as you have them in the middle.

We talk of business decisions in terms of months or even years. A combine can make a move on an alien market in days.

 _(Addendum: In retrospect, these kinds of hyper-fluid business networks are an obvious reflection of the volus's evolutionary background, and the lack of formality in their organisational structures clearly harkens back to their older trade cultures. -Tiffany)_

* * *

 **Volus Trade Culture : Sanctions and Vendetta**

Officially, the Vol-clan has forever renounced war between volus as a perversion, a blasphemous expression of Entropy, and all-round inefficient and wasteful. War between volus and other aliens is theoretically fine, though, and of course, you should try and profit off of wars between aliens and other aliens. Not like you're to blame for their barbarity and inferior culture.

Of course, volus history tells us that their technical pacifism has a very nasty habit of rapidly escalating into a kind of passive-aggressive cold war, dominated by intrigue, sabotage, and violence-by-proxy, even in ancient times. It hasn't really gotten better with age, either, and in modern times, vendettas are far more common than you'd think. Vendettas serve a useful role in volus culture, allowing the wobblies to get around religious and cultural limitations on the use of violence without having to declare open warfare (which is seen as far too destructive to be of any real long-term value, essentially a zero-sum game that only Entropy can win). More amoral volus view such things as simply the kinetic aspect of business-as-war which, whilst certainly not something to idolise or glorify, nonetheless deserves a legitimate role in the marketplace of ideas. Immoral volus – and most Depthwalkers – argue that vendetta is in fact the ultimate form of competition and thus serves to profit all volus by rewarding the strong and the cunning and destroying the weak, the passive, the altruistic, and the parasitic. _(Addendum: Yes, I know, 'vendetta' is an Italian translation, but it's still the best-fit, unless you'd like to spend six months on a crash study course in volus linguistics and prove me wrong. Didn't think so. -Tiffany)_

Moving on to sanctions, which are extremely potent symbols in volus culture, though only on an intra-volus basis; sanctions against aliens are completely different and are deployed in largely the same manner as anyone else, without any kind of symbolic ramifications. Between volus clans and individuals, however, sanctions can mean all manner of things: expressing displeasure with a friend or family member, an act of diplomatic protest, part of a hostile takeover bid, a declaration of vendetta, or even a horribly obscene and blasphemous insult. There's plenty more, but what you should remember is that in every case it depends on the social context and method of delivery.

Consider the traditional greetings of volus hospitality, and their reciprocal nature: an aperitif and a sweet pastry is the typical offering, as discussed earlier, and there's a wide variety of other offerings, each with their own meaning. Now, you can send messages with these depending on what you do (or don't) offer, and in context, this is called the 'little sanction' – a small yet figurative act – that can speak volumes. To outright refuse to offer them any hospitality upon greeting them, especially for the first time, would be considered an extremely hostile declaration of intent, akin to certain human cultures in ancient times not offering their guests bread and salt and protection under their roof.

You could even heighten this grievous insult with an actual implied death threat by telling the person before you to 'protect their neck' – a hell of thing in wobbly culture, given that the tradition for greeting males is to clasp their inner shoulder, whilst females touch the side of the face; in both cases, your hand is very close to the neck jowls that contain the tip of the gel-stem, figuratively, the source of volus life in the same way the heart is for humans. _(Addendum: Cloudmaster Oda Von actually said that straight to Warlord Gattatog Mhzer's face during the Second Krogan Rebellion, before spitting on the ground and dragging what I assume were his moon-sized balls out of the room. -Tiffany)_

A 'great sanction' is at once a more serious yet less personal matter, since it's largely something executed by and against clans or even whole combines and industry sectors. It's more serious since it affects more people, more companies, and (most painfully) more economic activity, but it's less personal since it's not carried out by any individual against any other individual. Whilst a grave action indeed, it's just business, and is much less likely to lead to a long-term vendetta that would drain blood and treasure. In practice, the vast majority of volus hate having to carry out little or great sanctions, and in this modern day and age most little sanctions are blood-feuds amongst Depthwalker groups (and the law enforcement types hunting them down) and most great sanctions are political edicts sent down from the Citadel or the Vol Protectorate itself. For example, the last great sanction of note was actually issued against a number of suspected front companies for, well, us, in order for the Vol Protectorate to be seen complying with Citadel anti-terror-financing legislation. _(Addendum: I'm sorry to break the news to you, sir, but it's now considered illegal for a wobbly to formally offer you a hospitality greeting in Citadel Space, or to knowingly do business with one of your sanctioned companies. You must be devastated, I know. Casual dining with the Illusive Man, however, is entirely legal. Barla Von could meet you at Taco Bell and it wouldn't make the news on Irune. -Tiffany)_

* * *

 **Volus Culture : Crime and the Fallen**

By anyone's standards, Volus Space is remarkably crime-free and peaceful. Murder, rape, serious assault, abuse, and similar horrors are extremely rare, as is obvious antisocial behaviour in general. You won't find any gangbangers or arcology riots in Volus Space, and to most of our Tier I-III citizens, it honestly sounds like a paradise.

This is for reasons both biological and psychological, as detailed elsewhere in this report. Volus are not predisposed to such things and their culture does not value, glorify, or reward them – quite the opposite – but don't think that Wobbly Space is some kind of utopia. What most volus (and aliens) tend to gloss over is the fact that volus law has some very strange definitions of what is a crime and what makes a criminal. There is a huge range of behaviours that we would consider immoral, unethical, or unacceptable that are frankly just… normalised or even ignored within the Vol Protectorate.

Volus assign criminal, moral, and spiritual responsibility directly to the person committing the act, and only then if said act violated a handful of absurdly rigid criteria. Not all volus support this view, of course, and there are many different legal and philosophical schools of thought within their society that extensively debate the nature of justice and criminality, but for the most part, this is how it works. Murder is an extraordinarily serious crime, for instance, because it forever (and without due process) deprives the individual (the victim in this case) of their ability to seek the bounty of life. Such a thing is unforgivable. The actual act of violence itself is certainly considered to be culturally distasteful, but it is so rare that they don't really give it much thought. There hasn't been a convicted murderer, as volus define it, in their space since the First Contact War, and yet during that time, millions of volus have been killed in pirate raids, mysterious industrial accidents, assassinations or suicides that are never really solved, and so on. Nothing to see here, Earth-clan. Move along.

This is what allows most volus to gloss over the second and third-order violence that is actually rather common in certain parts of their society. For instance, if you sabotage a navigation computer and everyone you hate conveniently flies into the nearest sun, you'll be charged – and I shit you not – with damaging infrastructure and/or plant occasioning bodily harm, rather than mass murder, terrorism, or some other capital offense that you clearly deserve. If you hire a mercenary group to disguise themselves as pirates and raid a rival's shipping lanes, even killing said rival, under volus law you haven't actually committed a crime. Those mercenaries committed a crime. All you did was pay for a lawful contract. If you kill your rival yourself, though, you'd be vilified and imprisoned for life.

Likewise, violating certain contract provisions – such as your reporting requirements to the Vol Protectorate, or refusing to provide a service you've been paid for – is an extremely serious offense, since it undermines individual effort and the public's full faith in the effectiveness of volus markets, thus lowering net value creation and ultimately feeding Entropy. Patents and copyright are protected with a viciousness that most species reserve for holy wars, yet corporate espionage – defined as seeking hidden information and/or protecting hidden information – is entirely lawful (with a few exceptions), and the volus don't even have words for 'insider-trading' or 'bribery,' let alone explanations for why these are wrong.

As you can see, many things that we would consider to be criminal are entirely lawful in Volus Space, so most Depthwalkers and even regular volus 'criminals' (as we would see them) are just everyday people carrying ordinary business, hardly remarkable or worth of notice. A natural consequence of this is that it tends to funnel the more extreme elements of volus society into a handful of physical and cultural spaces. 97% of volus are, for all intents and purposes, perfectly normal and live their lives within one standard deviation of mainstream volus society and culture. A further 2.9% will display some lighter Fallen, Depthwalker, or otherwise outcast tendencies, but still remain within that normal range. They'll choose to accept their nature and try their best to live a normal volus life, largely because of family ties, but occasionally for philosophical or theological reasons too. 0.099% will be noticeably 'Other' and have a difficult time in mainstream volus society; these will fall within two standard deviations and are much more likely to disengage from some aspects of volus culture and spend much more of their time outside Volus Space. You'll find many of those volus on the Citadel, on every planet with a heavily mixed-species population, and on various space stations and sovereign worlds like Noveria. As for the final 0.001%, well, those belong in the next section.

* * *

 **Volus Depthwalker Culture**

The final 0.001% are the high-spectrum ones who truly can't make it, the ones who will be three or more standard deviations from the volus norm, and these are the kind of freaks and extremists (at least in the eyes of all the other volus) who you'll find in the Terminus, on Omega, and in the nastiest parts of Noveria and the Citadel. As I mentioned in the section on Volus Psychology, these people are extreme outliers and are not in any way representative of mainstream volus culture, nor are they like other volus. They are to other volus as Brooks and Rasa are to humans. The fact that most of the other freaks, criminals, and extremist elements they'll likely be interacting with on Omega or Noveria or whatnot almost certainly aren't familiar with their kind is extremely frustrating to most of them, and more than a few find themselves (initially, at least) having to one-up their alien peers just to earn their respect and not be dismissed as some weak, useless wobbly.

I hate to feed the stereotype, but a Venn diagram of Depthwalkers and volus-defined criminals is basically a perfect circle. Most Vol-clan volus – the regular wobblies who are a lawful part of Citadel Space and life on Irune – are rather smug about this, pointing to the tenets of Plenix and pointing out that the Fallen (which is what they consider all Depthwalkers to be) are, by default, considered damned by the nature they chose for themselves. I'm not entirely sure how to explain the cognitive dissonance of considering someone broken and cursed by choice and at the same time by the universe itself, but anyway. I suppose compared to the drell or to our religions it makes perfect sense, probably seems downright logical. To be fair this is an inherently biased sample population, since most hardened volus criminals are high-spectrum Depthwalkers simply because they're the only naturally occurring volus (the VDF treatment processes don't count) who are consistently capable of the extreme acts of violence and the general lifestyle pressures that come with the job. Well, that and the fact that mainstream volus society has oh-so-conveniently moved the goalposts so as to make anyone outside of themselves taboo and criminal.

From a criminal sociology standpoint, one of the most fascinating and defining qualities of Depthwalker criminal groups is that they are, in effect, gender-neutral - unlike almost every other male-dominated organised crime culture in the galaxy. Again, asari don't count. You don't get to claim the point when you only have one sex and one gender by default. Turians come the closest, I'll grant you that, but otherwise this is an utterly volus phenomenon. _(Addendum: The fact that it blows batarian minds is just a bonus; the whole concept of a woman being a physical equal or a criminal superior terrifies and confounds them to the point where they just ignore it and pretend it doesn't exist, the squinty bell-ends. -Tiffany)_

This is perhaps unsurprising given the remarkable lack of sexual dimorphism between volus sexes. Volus women aren't much smaller or less muscular than volus men, and they tend to have slightly quicker reflexes (and better biotics, but those wobblies are far, far too valuable to be allowed to leave the VDF). What is routine and unremarkable to a volus is a quite the radical counter-culture to everyone else in the industry, such as it is.

Cerberus hasn't had a huge amount of contact with these various groups, compared to the various other shadowy players we deal with, and we simply don't have a great deal of reliable intelligence on these people. Almost no civilian volus would willingly deal with someone so high on the spectrum and so openly Fallen in their conduct, and they can't really operate in Volus Space – whilst they tend to be disciplined, polymorphic personalities fully capable of mimicking normality (they can be quite charming when they want to be), over a long enough period of time, you eventually hit the volus equivalent of the uncanny valley and the likelihood of discovery approaches 1. It's like having lunch with Rasa, versus spending every second of an entire week around her; one is interesting, and the other is profoundly creepy and menacing. No sane person wants to be around that shit.

Same with these wobblies.

* * *

 **Conclusion**

I do hope these last two reports have enlightened you as to the nature of volus culture, sir. I suspect it's only a matter of time before certain wobblies make a move and directly contact us in some fashion. Since I'm officially here as part of a small and discrete delegation from House Minsta (and I've let slip I may be representing certain other Houses of the Third Rank who couldn't risk an open visit) and am looking for investment opportunities in Volus Space, the entire visit has been paid for as a 'complementary courtesy, with thanks from the Vol Protectorate, Earth-clan.'

The money is irrelevant, what it signals is that they're very much aware of us and very much interested in what we may have to offer.

I strongly suspect that they'll be after preferential investor options in the next BenCore Enterprises product launches, any possible leverage they can use against the Big Three, and possibly a long-term (and very, very discrete) line of communication with the Dog if they need it. They certainly wouldn't call it a relationship - and neither would I - but, well, sometimes the enemy of your enemy really can make a good friend of the moment, wouldn't you agree?

 _-Dr. Tiffany Minsta_

* * *

 _ **Postscript: A Special Note on Volus Headpats**_

I received a query from Trooper Nozno on the role that headpats play in volus culture. At first, I was very excited to see one of Petrovsky's rifle monkeys showing an intellectual interest in… well, anything, really, but especially xeno-cultural studies. _(Addendum: Eyes only: Oleg Petrovsky: You know, at first, I thought this was an occulted request from you looking at tactical applications for alien sociology and body language, but given Trooper Nozno's… peculiar tastes, I'm starting to think this really was him. For the love of God, stop him before he tries to headpat Trellani or Rasa, the poor boy. -Tiffany)_

 _(Addendum: Eyes only: Jack Harper/Oleg Petrovsky: No no, by all means let the fool try to headpat Trellani, it would be fascinating to see how far a human body can splatter from biotic force alone. -Rasa)_

For the record, yes, headpats are an integral part of volus trade and family culture, and are almost always a spontaneous expression of delight and pleasure. Despite the rumors in the Minuteman canteen, most public headpats are not sexual, though there are more amorous variants that express affection between a mated pair. Most aliens are not able to distinguish between the two, which amuses most volus; this in turn led to the classic extranet meme of the volus Cloudmaster flirtily headpatting Primarch Fedorian after the signing of the commercial Turian-Human Accord. (To his credit, Fedorian is a smoother diplomat than most suspect, and he's very good at playing the deadpan straight-man. A volus once tried to headpat another Praetor who was less than appreciative.)

For most humans, headpats are unlikely to be a serious issue. Your wobbly friend will, for instance, headpat you if you break wonderful news to them (like proposing to your lover, or getting a promotion), when they're very excited (at a tense GASCAR or airship race), or, of course, when you or they are on a winning gambling streak.

That said, volus are also not above 'mistranslating' the nature and deployment of headpats for comedic purposes, so if you're at a restaurant, catch the eye of someone you think is cute, and your wobbly friend says, with a perfectly straight face, "you should walk over there and headpat her/him," do not listen to them. It's a trap.

* * *

 **Message Header: HELNET BEGIN ENCRYPTION STRING**

 **NEGOTIATING ARBITRAGE HEADERS…CLEAR**

 **SYSFILL 8851241-SUB-TWO:** _Cross check complete_

 **SUCCUBUS-THREE-THREE :: RASA-33**

 **CREATING HANDSHAKE…ACKNOWLEDGMENT HANDSHAKE ACCEPTED**

 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: RASA**

So far, no further intrusions. I suspect this little feint might have been a Hades probe, as the operators we took out - while definitely P.'s people - had no real connection to his network, as they were freelancers.

I've stepped up security a notch. The lack of continued attempts does not mean the problem is resolved, only that whoever is behind this is looking for a new method. I will notify you if said method comes to fruition before we leave Vol Prime.


	9. Chapter 9 : Volus Government

**A/N:** _Once again the volus are brought to you, with even more headpat terrorism, by the hand of_ ** _Jacob_** _._ _This one is 99.5% him, I made a few tiny edits to Rasa._

 _Still working on next chapter of TWCD._

* * *

 **The Cerberus Files : Secondary Races**

* * *

 **Volus Government**

* * *

 **MESSAGE HEADER: HELNET BEGIN ENCRYPTION STRING**

 **NEGOTIATING ARBITRAGE HEADERS…CLEAR**

 **HERA-ONE-SEVEN-FOUR :: TIFFANY-174**

 **CREATING HANDSHAKE…ACKNOWLEDGEMENT HANDSHAKE ACCEPTED**

 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: TIFFANY MINSTA**

Sir,

'Irunism' is the name that modern political scientists give the volus system of governance, which in practise cannot be separated from their essential cultural structures and political economy. It's like making a distinction between the Turian Hierarchy and the turian military, or the Salarian Union and salarian perspectives on the value and acquisition of knowledge; to do so not only misses the point, but actually leaves you with a _worse_ understanding of how their civilisation works.

Volus do not see government or politics as an end goal in itself, and they shudder in horror at what passes for most alien political ideologies, with their rigid dogma and brutal implementation. Government is merely a tool, and politics is the process of wielding this tool; its sole purpose is to empower all volus to further seek the Bounty of Life, to extract value and energy from the universe, to minimise Entropy, to walk the Path of Plenix (for the more religious wobblies, at least), and to otherwise achieve excellence.

Successful governance on a macro level is defined by whether or not it achieves these objectives. On a micro level, it is defined by whether or not government good X or service Y offers a net positive to Z aspect of volus life.

All other considerations are, at best, secondary.

 **Cerberus Message of the Day:** _The best defense is to never assume you are safe._

* * *

 **Volus Civic Essentials**

In human academic terms, volus government is a eudaimonian, theo-noocratic, post-anarcho-capitalist, liquid crypto-democracy.

Still awake? Good. I'll try and discuss the volus interpretation of these terms in further detail. Take a seat anywhere in the class.

 _(Addendum:_ _Eyes only: Jack Harper:_ _Her vaunted ability to charm seems blunted when she attempts humor, as it is always edged. Is this due to the shaky self-esteem issues hidden behind the scars of her mother's abandonment and her distant father, or something else? -Rasa)_

The Vol Protectorate is eudaimonian, in the sense that its primary role is to promote what we would call 'eudaimonia,' the Ancient Greek philosophical concept developed by Aristotle, who argued that action of the virtuous mean was both ideal and necessary in order to live a life of the highest excellence; to do so was beneficial to both the individual and society as a whole. _( _Addendum: As with any philosopher worth reading, obviously it's impossible to compress the entirety of their work into a neat sentence, and I'd thoroughly recommend operatives peruse the bibliography attached to this report. -Tiffany)__

The original – and somewhat archaic – volus phrase roughly means 'world thrive [for] all volus,' and oddly enough, cannot be traced back to a single volus philosopher or intellectual, though several can certainly be credited with pioneering the political implementation of the concept.

The volus emphasize personal productivity, panache, and entrepreneurial spirit; individual effort (and individual reward) for communal outcomes; value creation and energy extraction; the unbound pursuit of the Bounty of Life, in whatever form of profit a volus sees fit; voluntary association and reciprocal altruism; and harsh punishment for any being who violates these norms. Given volus evolutionary psychology, such perspectives are not at all surprising. In practice, the Vol Protectorate implements policies designed to further these goals at every conceptual level of their society, provided the Vol-clan as a whole deems it an appropriate use of state power (or as close as the volus will ever get to the concept).

The Vol Protectorate is theo-noocratic, in the sense that it represents (and encourages) a flexible, adaptive system of autonomous voluntary associations and decentralized information relationships based on the primacy of the volus mind and the metaphysical imperatives of the Book of Plenix. 'Noocracy,' at least as humans understand it, was popularized by the 20th Century French Jesuit philosopher Teilhard de Chardin. Some of my more well-educated readers will recall that the (infamous) charismatic billionaire Andrei Ryan actually attempted to run an underwater sovereign city-state based on the concept in the 2030s – it might even have succeeded if it wasn't brought down by the (equally infamous) anarcho-syndicalist celibate revolutionary known only as 'Visavati.' Anyway, whilst the translation isn't quite a perfect fit (what translation is?), there certainly is a great deal of overlap between the human and volus implementations, and you can see some truly uncanny parallels with the Cloudwalker Clan and the various mystics who wrote the metaphysical econometric commentaries that complement the Book of Plenix.

Whilst it all may sound a little too hyper-intellectualised in theory, in practise, such perspectives have had a very real impact on volus life. For instance, it was actually the Most High of the Cloudwalker Clan – the highest religious figures in volus life – who championed and funded the first volus fusion reactor research and development, as well as the development of the first volus extranet and modern FTL comm buoys. Even today, they never shut up about the 'supreme moral imperative to develop zero-point energy devices,' akin to Inusannon power stars. A combined Vol Protectorate-Palavanus Research Institute project is currently leading the way in the development of such things, though their only prototype is the size of a small frigate and operates at an estimated 1% of the efficiency of the Inusannon devices they're mimicking. There's also a vocal minority of fringe clerics who argue that every second that the Vol-clan spends NOT trying to harness the matter and energy of the supermassive black hole at the centre of the Milky Way is actually an unforgivable act of blasphemy, and that anyone who even tries to debate them on this is a Depth-walking joule-leech who deserves to be trapped forever in a looped vacuum state collapse. _( _Addendum: Why yes, it IS pointless to argue with a wobbly philosopher-physicist who thinks his holy book is tellin-g him to declare an energy jihad on all of creation. -Tiffany)__

The Vol Protectorate is post-anarcho-capitalist, as we would understand it, though your average wobbly would happily debate you for _weeks_ on the finer points of these terms. The Protectorate is capitalist in that it consists of individuals producing, trading, and consuming within free markets, motivated by self-interest and the possibility of profit, protected by the rule of law, and made possible by private property ownership. The Protectorate vigorously enforces the functionality of all these things, and ensures they are protected against threats. Yet the Protectorate is anarchist in that voluntary associations, free from coercive authority, are an integral part of volus society and, indeed, are essential to their entire civilization. The Vol Protectorate does not claim authority over the lives or decisions of any volus, save what any volus is free to lend to it, and continually seeks the consent of the entire species. The entire Protectorate is designed to achieve eudaimonia for all volus, and any government function that does not (or cannot) offer a net positive to volus life is either eliminated or minimised as far as possible until a suitable replacement can be developed.

That said, the Vol Protectorate has been taking a harder line on matters of volus sovereignty and representation these last few decades, partly as a natural response to such threats as the Geth War and increasing batarian piracy in their trade lanes. The greatest influence, however, has been the turians, with their strict reciprocal honour codes and the Hierarchy's claim to being the sole legitimate political representative of the birds on the galactic stage.

The Vol Protectorate does not levy any kind of income tax, nor does it have any corporate taxes. Instead, the Protectorate charges a 20% value-added tax on all transactions in Volus Space, and also charges a per-use fee for whatever goods and services it provides. There are, of course, exceptions to these fees – it would be considered unspeakably gauche and uncultured to charge for a hospitality offering, for instance, and emergency medical treatment and first aid is generally gratis – but most of the time, this is how it works. Any profit that the Protectorate makes during a given financial year is distributed equally to all Vol-clan in lawful standing with the Protectorate, using the same public key system that enables their liquid crypto-democracy (discussed in greater detail later on). Technically, this is classed as a universal basic income, though the volus Cloudmaster and a supermajority of the Proctors may elect to reinvest the profit for that year back into the Protectorate's operations.

Needless to say, they take tax evasion and financial crimes very seriously – against them, at least, they don't care if you do it to anyone else – and the Vol Protectorate Internal Revenue Service Enforcement Division is the oldest armed force on Irune. They're basically a corps of mathematical geniuses, forensic accountants, prosecutors, and naval commandos. _( _Addendum: I'm serious. They have a__ _dreadnought. It isn't officially theirs, but they can borrow it. They will find you, they will shove a pistol in your mouth, and they will make you pay your back taxes. -Tiffany)_

Weirdly enough, the prospect of being hounded to the edges of known space by a giant, world-ending capital ship filled with unfeeling tax agents and howling vorcha monsters means that every single person in wobbly territory pays their damn taxes.

The Vol Protectorate is a liquid crypto-democracy, in the sense that participation in the political process is done through the use of encrypted public keys, unique to each volus and assigned at birth, and that the voting process is fluid and transferable. Volus votes can be delegated, traded, held in trust, and so on, though all transactions are reset at the beginning of each year and there are various settlement mechanisms for disputes (generally a nominated third-party mediation clan), built-in clawbacks (the trade is void if the delegate was found to have committed fraud or misrepresentation, and is forced to pay damages), and a seven-day cool-off period that cannot be overridden (in which either party may request a reversal to the _status quo ante_ ).

An example might be helpful here. Most volus clannu will get together for the volus New Year festivities; this festival lasts for ten days and is normally a bacchanalia of feasts, music, travel, and trade, but they'll also spend a day or so discussing the family affairs for the year, which includes politics and voting preferences. Most of the time, the clannu will pool their votes and assign them to a family delegate, generally the oldest and most powerful female, who is responsible for all their political affairs for the year. Each of these delegates will closely monitor volus politics, banding together with the other delegates of the entire clan, and they'll either trade these votes for favours and influence with other clans or otherwise cooperate and try to advance mutually beneficial agendas. Naturally, this tends to favour the clans with the largest population and smoothest, most influential diplomats – the Kwanu Clan has both, which is partly why they've dominated volus diplomacy for six thousand years – but this is counterbalanced by the fact that each clan in the Vol-clan Assembly is assigned only one seat and one vote, meaning that legally, the most powerful clans in all Volus Space have the same voice as the weakest.

* * *

 **Volus Liquid Crypto-Democracy**

I feel that this subject is worth discussing in a little more detail. Upon birth every volus is assigned a public key, digitally sourced from a randomised blend of atmospheric noise at Irune's magnetic poles, which is in turn permanently linked to a private key based on the volus's DNA and gel-stem readings. This key also has a physical form, generally a small yet extremely tough read-only data crystal stored in their suit with optional read-only omni-tool access. The public key has a great many uses in volus society, functioning as a general form of identification, travel documentation, public address, point-of-service for various legal and financial activities, and so on. You can, for example, send money or a comms request to a volus via their public key, and a volus may use it to sign their name on a contract or as proof of identity when travelling to another planet.

Obviously, it requires input of the private key in order to validate critical transactions, and without this key any third-party interaction with the device and/or public key is strictly limited (assuming it's allowed at all). The vast majority of volus will hardcode their device to require further levels of authentication for more serious matters, such as wills, votes, major business deals, or whatever else they feel deserves it. A common two-factor authentication measure is to link the private key input directly to the biofeedback functions of the volus suit, with the added bonus that if the suit detects any physical or psychological signs of coercion, the public key can be locked out for X amount of time and an automated, geo-located distress message sent directly to the nearest law enforcement body. More paranoid volus will have much more elaborate defence mechanisms, and outright criminal volus will make any attempt at compromising this device… very painful for an attacker. Omegan volus in particular have a reputation for incorporating some truly bonkers weapon systems into their suits.

The private key is known only to the volus who uses it; no service or organisation requires it and in fact, they're legally forbidden to ask for it. It is, of course, _technically_ possible to steal these identities or otherwise try and play the volus key ecosystem, but in practise, this is like trying to counterfeit the Citadel Credit – it can be done, but the costs and barriers are so ludicrously high that it simply isn't worth doing. It's like attacking a turian nursery.

Volus common law classifies such fraud and identity theft as a right-to-life violation AND an infringement of said volus's ability to seek the Bounty thereof, so needless to say, any volus committing such a sick and unforgivable offense will be sanctioned and subject to the harshest vendetta. Alien criminals found guilty of such crimes are normally subject to a bounty notice (very old school of the wobblies, no?), in which case they're simply hunted down and killed by volus mafias or even the VDF - if the bounty is big enough and the nearest captain is bored. _( _Addendum: VDF Vorcha Liaison Commanders have an alarming tendency to 'happen to be in the area' whenever this kind of thing happens, never missing an 'opportunity to deliver justice' in the form of dismemberment, howling, and flamethrowers. -Tiffany)__

* * *

 **Vol Prime**

In everyday conversation, 'Vol Prime' is normally used as shorthand for the upper echelons of the volus government in much the same way that 'Washington' or 'the Kremlin' were for their respective nations on Earth, or how 'the Citadel' is used in modern times. In this case, the term would always include the Cloudmaster, the rest of the Proctors, the Prime Functions of the High Court, and (optionally) the highest representatives of the Vol-Combine and Vol-clan Assemblies. Special services (such as the VDF, the Unseen Cloud, and the First Bank of Vol Prime) would also be included – remember that volus _do not_ see any clear distinction between military, economic, or political matters; the full faith and credit of the institutions in their political economy is considered essential to the functioning of the Vol Protectorate, and so the volus will defend them as such. Vol Prime also literally refers to the orbital complex that houses the executive branches of all the above organisations, as well as the official meeting halls of the Vol-clan and Vol-Combine Assemblies, the various bilateral alien embassies and missions in Volus Space, and the headquarters for the most powerful combines operating in Volus Space.

It's also where my team and I are staying during our time here in Volus Space, as you've no doubt noticed. _( _Addendum: I've attached some additional information on the station to this report. There's official data gathered from publicly available sources, and then some more restricted intelligence that the Lost Boys managed to… acquire during our stay. I didn't ask. -Tiffany)__

 _( _Addendum: She does learn, albeit slowly. Then again, I suspect her father is probably aghast at her being exposed to a group of mind-programmed former felons such as the Lost Boys. -Rasa_ )_

First off, yes, it's true: Vol Prime is technically the first ring-world to ever have been constructed by a Citadel species, though calling it a 'world' is a little generous – the core ring structure was about twenty kilometers in diameter, though the station as a whole has grown much larger over the centuries. An astounding feat of imagination and engineering, yes, an award-winning megastructure and widely considered one of the 'Twenty-Three Modern Technical Wonders of the Galaxy,' true, but it's not exactly a substitute for a planet. Also true: yes, whilst most of the station is attuned to the atmosphere and environmental conditions of Irune, there are whole districts that precisely mimic (and even exceed) the natural environments of every Citadel species.

This effort goes far beyond any comparable station – there _are_ parts of the Citadel that would compare, but Vol Prime's districts are far larger – and for almost all visitors, this is both a shock and an irresistible luxury. It says a great deal about how the wobblies approach diplomacy, trade, and hospitality. It is both good manners and good business to treat a guest or a potential business partner in this manner. It's a display of warmth and welcome, luxury and power, and above all else, respect. Obviously, VIPs and persons of note are given a treatment that wouldn't be out of place amongst the elite of Noveria, but even the most unremarkable functionary in a human trade delegation will experience a taste of a Class IV lifestyle that they could never hope to achieve in their personal life.

As for the wobblies, well, they see all of this as an investment that pays dividends a thousand times over.

* * *

 **The Cloudmaster and the Proctors**

There's a depressingly popular trope in human culture – less so for aliens – whereby the common man (or woman) seems to think that everyone in government service, or any kind of elite position for that matter, is somehow an incompetent idiot who failed their way upwards. Everyone else is always the fool, but don't worry because it's you, anonymous nobody, who can _really_ see the truth. Almost everyone thinks that they're smarter, more interesting, more attractive, more talented, funnier, cooler, or otherwise more _special_ than average. Almost no one stops and honestly considers whether or not they're truly, deeply wrong about any of this. New rule: the more ordinary and unremarkable you are, the less capable you are of seeing it. Nobles are, of course, exposed to this truth at an early age and, being merely human, are certainly not without flaws, but I have to admit that my species' infinite supply of cognitive dissonance and logical fallacies is deeply depressing. _(Addendum: Luckily, I have the solution to these troubles: icewine and dance halls. And maybe that Pavel Himura if he can get his damn comm security together. -Tiffany)_

No, the Citadel Council isn't 'stupid,' 'useless,' 'full of human-phobes,' or otherwise 'taking shots of idiot-ball tea.' The true purpose of the Citadel Council is to maintain the status quo in a galaxy where unforeseen and improperly managed blows to the status quo, like the Krogan Rebellions or the First Contact War, tend to result in massive system shocks, institutional collapse, and tens of millions of deaths. Their ultimate objective is to provide a measured degree of stability and order, and they are very, very good at this. That obstructive bureaucrat isn't there because he's too dumb to work anywhere else; he's been placed there, very much on purpose, in order to prevent genuinely stupid and incompetent people from wasting their betters' time. He knows exactly what he's doing. Likewise with every other aspect of government, but most people still don't get it. Those politicians or generals or tycoons that everyone loves to mock as they nurse a drink at the local bar? If you really were oh-so-better than them, as you like to boast, then _you would be doing their job_. But you're not, because you aren't. Why don't more people understand this?

Which brings us neatly to the volus Cloudmaster and the Proctors of the Vol Protectorate, the supreme leaders of volus civilisation and without exception, some of the most brilliant and accomplished members of their species. There are nine Proctors, including the Cloudmaster - who is technically considered _primus inter pares_. The purpose of the Proctors, including the Cloudmaster, is to provide the Vol-clan with meritocratic executive leadership capable of rapidly adapting to changing environmental conditions and external threats, conducting foreign relations and diplomacy, acting as a firm chain of command for their military and paramilitary forces, and otherwise ensuring that the various directorates of the Vol Protectorate are as lean, adaptable, and competent as possible.

The process for becoming Cloudmaster or a Proctor is identical and surprisingly simple: a prospective member is nominated by unanimous vote by the existing Proctors, who then pass the nominee to the Prime Functions of the High Court for a supermajority approval, which, if successful, results in the motion being put to a public vote before the entire Vol Protectorate. The system is designed to ensure that elite and public interests are in harmony, benefitting from public legitimacy and consent as well as a clear demonstration of meritocratic accomplishment and expert vetting. 'Iron sharpens iron,' you could say, and so the Vol-clan is now stronger.

The Cloudmaster retains an executive veto on most actions that the Proctors can propose, though a supermajority vote (six or seven Proctors) can override this, and a unanimous vote (all eight Proctors) can, in turn, override most of the Cloudmaster's decisions. Both parties have a strong incentive to cooperate, and rank partisanship tends to be severely punished by both the volus people as a whole and the highest clans who make up the Proctor's powerbases. Finally, the Cloudmaster also acts as the representative of the Proctors and the Vol Protectorate as a whole when interacting with the High Court, which we'll be discussing next.

* * *

 **The High Court**

The High Court of the Vol Protectorate is the supreme body politic that every other aspect of volus government orbits around. Its lineage can be traced back to the first arbitration tribunals developed by the mercantile clans that inhabited the central band plains of Irune and, whilst technology has marched ever onwards, in many ways it plays the exact same role today that it did then. It consists of thirty-eight Functions, each of whom commands a Node, and together they are led by the Prime Function.

Contrary to popular belief, the High Court isn't just a judicial court in the human sense, though there are parts of it that do function as such. The High Court acts as an impartial arbiter upon all critical government functions, as a final court of appeal, as a quorum of experts, and as a conduit of the Will of Plenix (and thus the ideals embodied by the entire volus species). In practical terms, the most important function of the High Court is its power to make Rulings, Recommendations, and Proclamations.

A Ruling is a serious event and is relatively straightforward: the High Court, being the ultimate body of appeal in the Vol Protectorate, attends to a legal case, hears the various arguments and reviews whatever evidence exists, consults with the appropriate experts, and then issues a Ruling on the matter that settles it permanently. A Ruling _cannot_ be challenged once it has been decreed, though the High Court itself can rescind a Ruling or otherwise update it, and a unanimous vote by the Cloudmaster and the Proctors can force the High Court to reconsider an argument or alternatively (if the matter permits) put the issue to a vote by every member of the Vol-clan.

Note that the High Court does not concern itself with trivial legal matters – only the most serious cases are even considered, only then if the matter cannot be settled by voluntary agreement or a lesser authority, and most of the time it needs to be a cluster-wide issue at a minimum. 80% of these are matters of galactic commerce and interspecies treaties, 10% are related to settlements and disputes by the largest clans and Combines, 3% are solely issues that arise from turian honour code conduct in Volus Space, and the remaining 7% are miscellaneous cases. In recent years, the High Court has mostly been dealing with the fallout from the collapse of the Batarian Hegemony, the Assault on Noveria, and the Geth War.

Recommendations are far more common and officially are nonbinding. _( _Addendum: In the same way that friendly advice from a Manswell is nonbinding. -Tiffany)__ These function as a kind of expert decree, typically related to a specialist field of knowledge, and are reviewed and issued by one of the various sub-nodes of the Quorum of Pathseekers Ascended, itself one of the great bodies that make up the High Court, though it is the High Court alone that passes the ruling – the Quorum can only advise in any official capacity. The Quorum itself consists of nine of the finest minds that Irune has to offer, typically a motley crew of obsessive-compulsive polymaths, public intellectuals and philosophers, tweaky geniuses, brilliant scientists and logicians, and so on. The usual one-in-a-million types that every species relies on to shatter convention and hurl a civilisation forwards, except in volus society they're actually given a voice and a great deal of resources.

Members of the Quorum are selected by previous members of the Quorum, most often on the basis of their accomplishments in volus public life, but occasionally a brilliant young (or old) mind will be plucked from obscurity. Note that 'selection' does NOT equal 'membership' – that is dependent on a public vote and the approval of the Cloudmaster, though the selectee will pass these gauntlets a good two-thirds of the time. Members of a specialist sub-node of the Quorum – for instance, the sub-node for xenopsychology or the sub-node for artificial intelligence – are not subject to these rules, do not have anywhere near the same power as a full Quorum member, and are there largely to offer advice or analysis on an extremely sophisticated or esoteric subject.

Whilst a Recommendation from the Quorum is indeed nonbinding, to ignore such advice is considered foolish in the extreme, typically leading to a _de facto_ assumption of unlimited liability for every commercial and personal aspect of a venture that can reasonably be judged to be within the parameters of the Recommendation. An obvious side-effect of this is that every other party who is even tangentially involved will immediately increase their prices, demand more comprehensive insurance and risk-minimisation measures, throw in some truly savage clawbacks, and generally make your life a pain in the arse. As you can see, whilst a Recommendation may not carry the full _de jure_ weight of a Ruling, in practice, noncompliance can be far harsher and more painful. Not every Recommendation is this severe, of course, nor do they affect all volus equally, but when in Wobbly Space one would be wise to pay close attention to them regardless.

Proclamations are a stranger affair, especially since it isn't actually the High Court who has the authority to speak of them or even debate the concept. A Proclamation is a religious ruling determined by a unanimous vote of the Most High of the Cloudwalker Clan and issued by them through the High Court. Traditionally, it's painted and inscribed by hand on a specially treated piece of volus vellum, before being hand-delivered by a cabal of robed Cloudwalkers to the Cloudmaster himself, accompanied by much wailing and chanting. _( _Addendum: Thanks, turian Council of Woe, for infecting all of creation with your angsty teenage melodrama and turning this wobbly fatwa ritual into something even more embarrassing than it already is. -Tiffany_ )_

Proclamations are a rare thing these days – the last one was issued against the geth just a couple of years ago, the one before that against the batarians about forty years ago, and before that against a Fallen Cloudwalker about eighty years ago. The most influential Proclamation was actually issued against the Krogan Empire after the First Krogan Rebellion, calling upon all volus who walk the Path of Plenix to invest in the Vol Protectorate's financing of the blockade and sanction regime that shattered any hopes Tuchanka had to rebuild.

Technically, a Proclamation can also be nonbinding and merely advisory in nature, in which case it is written on the vellum of a lesser creature or perhaps on hand-polished and ritually sanctified stone tablets (or certain other minerals, depending on the content of the message). In truth, most of the High Court views Proclamations as a tedious pain in the arse that distracts them from the serious business of advising the Vol Protectorate, though some traditionalists enjoy the ceremony and all volus are, of course, delighted to use the occasion as an excuse to throw a party or go travelling. Still, there's nothing the Court members can do to stop it, and perhaps there is something to be said for the meaning that is imparted on civic life by these kinds of public traditions and ritual.

* * *

 **The Assemblies**

There are two assemblies in Volus Space. These are the Vol-clan Assembly and the Vol-Combine Assembly, respectively, the voluntary association bodies for every clan and combine in Volus Space, and together, they function as political representatives, guilds, mediation courts, private clubs, trade federations, and town squares. Membership in the Assemblies is, as I said, voluntary; no clan or combine can be forced to take part and, in theory, have no need to, though almost all of them do. The benefits of being a part of the Assemblies are immense – each functions as an enormous single market and free trade zone, allows for greater (and more direct) influence in volus politics and society through collective representation, encourages the free flow of ideas and votes, facilitates smoother dispute resolution, and, of course, acts as a social lubricant, encouraging talk and trade amongst the wobblies.

Both Assemblies have very similar goals and very similar rules, some of which I'll be discussing later, and so most observers dismiss them as two parts of the same body. There is admittedly some truth to this, but there are a few key differences that I feel are important. Firstly, the Clan Assembly is far more influential in volus society and has a much more direct impact on their daily lives. Clans are their defining social unit and form much of the fabric and texture of volus life, so clan rulings that may seem economically or politically insignificant, can actually have an enormous social impact. Second, the Combine Assembly is clearly not as powerful as pop culture makes it out to be. On paper, yes, the total assets of these organisations are staggering and some of them have a great deal of influence on the galactic stage, but never forget that it is the clans themselves that run them and that ultimately they answer to the High Court and the Proctors. It would be more accurate to consider them an economic engine and strategic tool of the Vol Protectorate.

Never forget that economics is a _weapon_.

Having said that, let's move on to what the Assemblies have in common, and how they fit in with volus civic life.

Commonly referred to as the 'Vol Court of Corporations' – which is just a lazy translation that leaves you less informed than when you started, if you ask me – the Vol-Combine Assembly is the representative body for every registered combine in the Vol Protectorate. It does _not_ represent every business interest or corporation in Volus Space, only combines – lesser corporations are usually represented by a guild-like clan in the Vol-clan Assembly. As I mentioned earlier, each clan within the Vol-clan Assembly has one seat, which entitles them to the rights and responsibilities of clan operations, and one vote, which they can use as they see fit to advance their own agendas, disrupt those of their rivals, or otherwise trade with other clans for mutual benefit. The Combine Assembly works in a similar manner. In theory, this means that the most powerful and impressive clans in all of volus history, with hundreds of billions of credits, millions of members, and a pedigree dating to the volus Bronze Age, have the same voice in the Assembly as a clan that was registered last week and consists of three wobblies selling fake GASCAR jerseys off the back of a truck.

'In theory' is the operative phrase here.

In theory, any turian Primarch has the right to fight Fedorian if they don't have faith in his leadership. In theory, the SIX are merely first among equals and value the input of the other families within the Salarian Union. In theory, the High Lords are the servants of the people, transparent and accountable to our democracy, and Maxwell Manswell is but a sickly old man in the twilight of his life.

Please.

In practise, Fedorian has torn his rivals apart on live broadcasts and chastised or otherwise divided the survivors so fully that not one of them has a chance of moving against him. (This has led to a vicious spiral of increasing mistrust of Palaven in the outer Hierarchy clusters, actually _worsening_ Fedorian's long-term political position, but that's beside the point). In practise, the SIX sic the STG (or their own personal operatives) on _anyone_ in Salarian Space who dares threaten their position or their family, which, given their already extreme state of paranoia, is pretty much anyone who so much as looks at them wrong. And of course, we all know that nothing, _nothing_ , of substance happens in the Systems Alliance without the consent of the Silver Prince, who rules with a degree of control and influence that the tyrants of old could only dream of.

Likewise, the oldest, the largest, the wealthiest, the most advanced, and the most well-connected clans and combines all have obvious advantages over their smaller and weaker rivals. For the lesser players, it would seem that their situation is hopeless, and that they're forever doomed to be dominated and traded by their betters, but that's not quite true: the ingenious bit is that, like the rest of the volus government, the Assemblies are designed to operate in a constant state of chaotic equilibrium. Yes, some clans obviously have far more power than others, but any agreement that the Assemblies issue requires a unanimous vote, a transparent and public bartering process, and must be applied equally to all clans at all times. _( _Addendum: Nonbinding rulings or ones specific to certain parties, are considered acts of mediation and are not subject to the same rules, though they're strictly voluntary. -Tiffany)__

Note that neither of the Assemblies is a legislative body and they are not concerned with law enforcement per se. They CANNOT pass laws in Volus Space (that's the job of the Proctors and High Court) and can only issue a variety of binding and nonbinding voluntary agreements that apply to their respective member clans and combines. Any member body that disagrees with said rulings is, in theory, free to protest or withdraw entirely from the Assemblies, though, of course, this is tantamount to political and economic suicide.

If this all sounds remarkably anarchist of the wobblies, well, that's because it is.

* * *

 **Vol Prime Energy Credit and the Citadel Banking Act**

To say that the First Bank of Vol Prime is 'powerful' is like saying that Shepard has a nasty right hook or that Jona Sedaris likes it rough. Human CEOs refer to it as 'the Kraken,' their asari counterparts call it 'the Purse of Athame,' and I suppose turian CEOs probably would have a name for it if they didn't already all work for the wobblies. The First Bank of Vol Prime is the alpha and omega of galactic finance, and all of this power stems from a single slip of paper known as the 'Citadel Banking Act.'

I've already covered the ludicrous classified powers that the Citadel Banking Act affords certain elements of the volus government (see the Unseen Cloud piece for further details), but it's worth considering the openly stated powers as well – and particularly the ramifications thereof. You can look up the tedious details on the extranet, but the short version is that the Citadel Banking Act does solemnly declare that the First Bank of Vol Prime is to be the sole legitimate reserve bank in Citadel Space, the ultimate issuer and guarantor of the Citadel Credit, and the body responsible for executing monetary policy in the civilised galaxy.

Yes, you could say that that is a source of great power.

Explaining the technical details of how the Citadel credit actually works is, to a layperson, like explaining eezo: it is best done in broad strokes, with plenty of similes and very little mathematics. The Citadel Credit is a 'living' currency with limited, semi-autonomous instinctual behaviour en masse (and/or when certain conditions are met). It may come as a surprise, but the Citadel Credit is actually decentralised. Despite being developed and issued by a reserve bank, the currency is self-maintaining in the wild and slowly increases or decreases its own supply, velocity, and mass in response to changes in the galactic macro-economic environment.

For example, credits automatically seek out the quickest and most secure route between trading points, actively resist attempts at intrusion and counterfeiting, and (when being held by the First Bank or one of its lesser affiliates) automatically position themselves within the broader money supply (M1, M2, et cetera) in order to combat inflation or deflation. This behaviour is scalable, so an increasing mass of credits is more capable of such actions. Basically, most of the Citadel's toolbox of monetary policy actions is baked into the Citadel Credit itself. So, instead of spending all of their time catching up to changing conditions in an infinitely complex galactic market (covering hundreds of thousands of light-years, trillions of credits worth of GDP, and tens of billions of sapient beings), the First Bank is free to focus on other tasks. I suppose the common person is better off thinking of the galactic money supply as an ocean and each credit as an individual drop – unremarkable yet oh-so-essential on a micro level, and surprisingly resilient and adaptable on a macro one.

There's a ridiculous amount of trashy conspiracies on the extranet about this, so I'll state up front that no, the credits in your pocket (or omni-tool, or account, et cetera) are _not_ actually sentient (let alone sapient). Your credits aren't going to leap out of your wallet and run off back to the Citadel. They don't have feelings and they're not listening to you jerk off alone and brood over how the galaxy has hurt you. _( _Addendum: I assume that's what conspiracy theorists do all day. I can't say I've ever actually met one in the wild, which, in retrospect, is a self-fulfilling prophecy. -Tiffany)__

The Citadel Credit is also not directly managed, programmed, or controlled by any kind of VI or AI. The Credit did not always exist in this state, but the modern iteration has been stable for several hundred years now and is widely considered to be one of the technological marvels of modern civilisation, a staggering expression of individual genius meeting communal outcomes. It also gave birth to the exciting field of (quasi-) sentient econometrics! Interspecies commerce, xenopsychohistory, nonlinear mathematics, and modern political economy are also subjects you'll need to study in order to develop a basic understanding of the Citadel Credit and the galactic economy. Such fun!

Officially, the First Bank of Vol Prime answers to the Citadel Council and is owned by the good people of the galaxy, whom it serves. This is mostly true, by the way. That said, one cannot understate just how influential the volus were in its development and operation. (This is why I saw fit to include the First Bank in this section.) Even to this day, the organisation is dominated by volus staff and the wobblies take a great deal of pride in its status and effectiveness, viewing the First Bank of Vol Prime as the supreme expression of volus culture and commercial acumen, clearly superior to clumsy alien alternatives and perhaps even serving as inspiration to the un-volus.

And that concludes my report. I'm going to sleep.

* * *

Tiffany woke up to the sight of her own face staring back at her on the bed.

She managed not to scream or shout this time and was very proud of that, though her stomach still dropped and lurched like she'd been pushed off the top of a bridge. The nausea was manageable now, but that quick spike of bile before she got it under control still tasted disgusting.

She wondered if Rasa enjoyed this kind of thing, and after a moment decided that she probably did.

To her credit, the Tiffany-thing splayed across the bed in front of her was exquisite. Her exact height, the same glowing, fresh-from-the-beach skin tone, the same hair, thick and lucious like poured honey, the same perfectly cast expression of invincible youth, cleverness, and slight boredom.

"I look _good_ ," said the real Tiffany, almost purring the words.

The Tiffany-Rasa-thing sighed as its eyes glazed over a little. "Each time I think you have learned something from your time around me, adding another paragraph to your story before it ends, you say something immature and obvious. Immaturity is boring, but obviousness is lethal. Do not be obvious. That is advice."

"Please, I was just—"

"I know you said it to try and 'throw me off' with a little misplaced confidence." The thing sneered. "This is _obvious_."

Tiffany was silent for a moment, and then she frowned and raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"Predictive behavioural modelling. And I can smell your sweat. You taste… nervous. Moist and peppery."

"That's what Pavel said."

The Tiffany-Rasa-thing said nothing, merely glared at her.

"Look," said Tiffany, folding her arms, "as far as coping mechanisms go, I have two options when forced to spend weeks around you constantly: I can drink icewine and make witty comments, or I can be a shaking, traumatised mess in the shower. The first keeps me functional and useful to the Dog. The second benefits _no one_ but our enemies. I pick the first one."

The Tiffany-Rasa-thing nodded, much to her surprise, and Tiffany was struck by how uncanny it was to witness the movements of a foreign _thing_ inside her own body. She wondered if this was what Alzheimer's or demonic possession would look like. Or feel like, if you were forced to watch.

"I've established your bona fides with the local volus authorities, and have been performing countersurveillance operations whilst wearing your… body," the thing said, and Tiffany watched as her doppelgänger's face split open to grin like a vorcha, "You were correct. You _were_ being watched. STG, at first, but my lovely Lost Boys took care of those unwanted guests. Then it was P., but that was likely a Hades front. The Broker, oddly enough, has been quiet, but he is… occupied, as we speak. The salarians may try again, Hades certainly will, but the volus have been watching you this entire time. They will speak to you tonight."

"Why?" said Tiffany, still staring into the eyes – _her_ eyes – of the thing lounging within kissing distance of her own face.

"Because they have been watching just as we have been watching, and this is but a dramatic pause in our particular story here. They disposed of those salarian and turian corpses, after all – they know, how could they not? They will not be so clumsy as to be violent, but they will make contact. You must be ready. Cerberus demands it. As do I, for that matter."

Tiffany paused and gently rubbed her face against the pillow as she thought, feeling the Thessian sea-silk brush against her cheek, tender as a lover's fingertips. "Mm. It will be a representative of the Vol-clan. Not the VDF, though definitely connected to them. Not the Unseen Cloud, that's too melodramatic, they're not the goddamn birds. No. It'll be one of the Proctor's fixes, they've each got dozens of them. Maybe one of the top clan people, but we'll see. I suspect I'll get brief access to one of their representatives, someone who can speak for the wobblies as a whole but with a degree of plausible deniability."

Another slight nod of respect from the Tiffany-Rasa-thing. "So, you haven't spent all your time here drinking, fucking, and being obvious. Good. And the Archive of All Under Heaven?"

"That's possible, but – I mean, I have no idea what I'll find in there," said Tiffany, and she frowned. "Or who. No one does. Less than five humans have ever seen the entrance."

Her doppelgänger's voice was oddly soft. "You don't know. That is the thrill of infiltration: to be balanced on the edge of discovery and death. Enlightenment and extinguishing. It is the ultimate expression of formlessness and of purpose. It is a story whose outcome you cannot know. It is _everything_ that is not obvious."

"You… you make it sound almost beautiful. Poetic. Like an art."

The thing grinned again, and Tiffany was reminded of a lioness stalking a gazelle unawares. "It is an art. You should savor that moment, child. The moment you penetrate that place and own it."

"Spoken like a true rapist."

Glazed eyes, a sigh, and a dismissive glance. "And then you go back to being obvious."

"Rasa."

"Yes," said the thing, growling the word out in a single harsh syllable.

 _Why does a part of me enjoy having this tête-à-tête with myself? Seeing my own face worn by a stranger? Hearing my soft voice become a growl? Us laying here in my own bed?_

"You've spoken to me about the value of being formless. Of becoming less than nothing."

"Yes."

Tiffany hesitated before speaking, bringing her hands up and clasping them, looking away briefly before focusing her eyes back at her own eyes, at the Tiffany-Rasa-thing that lay next to her and stared at her unblinkingly. "What would happen to you if you had a form? If you became solid. Of substance. A single personality. A single body. A fixed you."

"To have form is to embrace a lie. Our… personalities, our passions, our reasons – they are nothing. To be shaped is to be manipulated by those who don't understand. To be constrained to some form due to the pressure of… what? Puerile mindless fools who can't even grasp day to day what living involves?"

The doppelgänger shook her head slowly. "I am formless because my story is that of the observer. Am I madness given form, a horrible monster and rapist, a mentally damaged person to be pitied, or something else entirely?"

Tiffany said nothing as Tiffany-Rasa leaned forward. "The fixed position is overrun, the static decays, the stolid falls to entropy. Only by being formless can one find a place to find rest in any location – like water, or rumor, or disdain." The voice was coolly amused, then in a single quick motion the Tiffany-Rasa-thing moved off of the bed and stood at its full height, a shadow passing over its face. "You should go meet with this volus. Your curiosity into me is… merely more of you trying to assign a shape to something that has none."

Tiffany laid there on the bed.

She didn't know how long she was there for, but Rasa was gone and there was soft, polite knock on the door. She padded over, throwing on a robe on her way. She took a moment to collect herself, then she grabbed the handle, twisted it slightly, and opened the door.

A volus stood before her, bulbous glowing eyes looking up at her like a curious dog. The volus bowed, her hands open in offering. " _Hrsk_ – Greetings, Cena Tiffany of the Minsta-clan."

 _Oh, Father is going to love the idea of a Minsta-clan._

Tiffany bowed and made a reciprocal sign of greeting, speaking a few words of the Cloudwalker script before switching back to human languages. "And the most high blessings and greetings to you. I fear I have no refreshments to offer you in this moment, but you are welcome to rest in my shelter, and laugh and eat with me and mine. Might I ask of your clan and clannu?"

"Your hospitality is well-received and most welcome. I am a humble messenger of no clan, and my name is of no importance, but I bring word from the Most High," said the volus, as her words took on a hint of reverence, "Your presence is requested at the Salon of the Sunset Grove tomorrow, at noon, by your time."

"I would be delighted to share a moment with the Most High. Shall I bring anything?"

"Your presence is all the present they require. _Hrsk_ – And with that, my message is sent. May you walk the Path of Plenix."

The volus turned and walked away, leaving Tiffany alone with her thoughts.


	10. Chapter 10 : Volus Military

**A/N:** _Once again the volus are brought to you, with even more headpat terrorism, by the hand of **Jacob**. This one is 99.5% him, I made a few tiny edits to Rasa._

 _Still working on next chapter of TWCD._

* * *

 **The Cerberus Files : Secondary Races**

* * *

 **Volus Military**

* * *

 **MESSAGE HEADER: BEGIN HELNET ENCRYPTION STRING**

 **NEGOTIATING ARBITRAGE HEADERS…CLEAR**

 **HERA-ONE-SEVEN-FOUR: TIFFANY-174**

 **CREATING HANDSHAKE…ACKNOWLEDGEMENT HANDSHAKE ACCEPTED**

 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: TIFFANY MINSTA**

Sir,

And so, it is time for us to discuss the Blood-Profit Clan, otherwise known as the Volus Defence Force.

Unlike most standing Citadel race militaries, volus eschew much of what we humans would consider conventional tactics and strategy. They do not field vast corps of infantry, only make use of armoured vehicles in an auxiliary or deep-strike role, and do not ever try and conquer territory in the conventional sense.

Volus prefer not to (directly) involve personal violence when dealing with other volus for a variety of historical, cultural, and religious reasons, but this same courtesy does not extend to most aliens. It's true that few volus join the VDF, even less enjoy killing, and that the species as a whole has nothing but contempt for those they consider brutish and uncivilised. Yet it is equally true that volus value their survival very much indeed, and they will fight with a surprising degree of tenacity if they see no other option.

You should know that the Turian Hierarchy still provides a great deal of diplomatic cover for their volus allies. On paper, of course, the Vol Protectorate is no longer a client state and must officially abide by all standard regulations and tariffs present in Turian Space, but the two species are still very close. One cannot negate thousands of years of shared history. The VDF and turian navy still train and operate together, and volus are still the most influential players in what passes for the turian economy. After all, it's not like a handful of clumsy tariffs and sir-yes-sir Hierarchy regs present much of a barrier for even the most naïve volus merchant.

The Primarch had to be seen to punish the Vol Protectorate in order to save face at a time where many cluster Primarchs and Autarchs question his political resolve, but Fedorian is surprisingly canny and understands that the turians are far better off with a firm ally on the Citadel and an economic partner capable of fending off asari and salarian predations. The Unbroken Circle genuinely views even the most vile VDF programs as a positive sign that Irune is willing to take its defence seriously and adapt a more 'realistic, sharp-taloned' turian interpretation of what exactly constitutes a valid combatant. Due to their evolutionary nature and cultural development, turians consider literally everyone to be a combatant and do not even acknowledge any separation between military and civilian personnel; they'd very much like their volus allies to adopt the same philosophy. _( _Addendum: And that is why the birds best serve humanity as targets. Remember Shanxi. -Tiffany_ )_

Rasa has decided (somewhat unilaterally but logically) that she'll handle most of the military assessment itself – tactics, equipment, and force evaluation – while I'll deal with the somewhat more cerebral aspects. Understanding the volus military is not as simple as counting guns or summarizing their combat moves, as to the volus – like everything else they undertake – even violence must be profitable to be pursued.

 **Cerberus Thought of the Day:** _Vulnerability begins when you treat a threat as mere possibility._

* * *

 **Volus Combat Psychology**

Never forget that the wobblies think that business is war and war is a business.

I touched upon this subject during my investigation into the Unseen Cloud, and so this is an excellent point to remind readers that volus do not view or approach conflict in the same manner that humans do. Just as salarians view 'warfare' as the 'kinetic phase of the intelligence cycle,' volus see 'warfare' as 'a bloodied cascade of transactions' whose beginning, middle, and end are context-dependent and constantly shifting.

Much like asari, volus take a far more expansive view of conflict than humans, and include all manner of socioeconomic, cultural, cognitive/infomemetic, religious, and physical assault vectors in their operational planning. They see no practical difference between offensive and defensive operations, preferring to execute both simultaneously and with as much common resource use as possible, and (like salarians) consider a formal declaration of war or the concept of a conflict having a neat beginning, middle, and end to be clinically insane.

You do not make a courtesy call to a competitor, informing them of your latest product developments and plans to take over their market. No, you must move before they have a chance to realise your true intentions. You must know the client better than the client knows himself. To compete is an imperative, and to make a profit is divine.

This is the volus way of business, and it shapes the volus way of war.

Volus perspectives on the utility of violence have been heavily influenced by their biology and evolutionary development. Irune is a remarkably dangerous place – only mutant vorcha and heavily augmented krogan survivalists have any real chance of making it in the wilderness – and volus, being prey animals, instinctively understand that the universe is a dangerous place and that the unknown can kill you just as easily as the familiar. The pragmatic risk analysis of volus trade culture only reinforces this, and even the Book of Plenix says that "for war is a bloody market and death the final transaction, so pay heed to the bargaining around you and know truly when your gamble is reckless, lest the Depths take you and your bounty remains forever unclaimed."

As a result, volus military planners take pre and post-conflict strategy far more seriously than humans do. They will examine the obvious geopolitical motives that precipitate most wars, of course, but they will also carefully study the cultural, historical, and socioeconomic factors that instigate conflict, in the same way that a human scientist might examine an evolutionary record to study an ecosystem in the present day. Volus will also study the post-conflict aftermath and recovery phase with equal rigor.

Petrovsky makes an excellent point that we can't afford to dismiss volus tactics and strategy simply because their military is unconventional and small, or because they seem physically and psychologically unsuited for warfare. _( _Addendum: There's always some mouth-breathing berk who thinks that a prey animal can't be a threat because it's a prey animal. You know what else are prey animals? Yahg, krogan, and – according to Rasa – thresher maws. While I'd rather not think just what in fuck would prey on a forty-meter long death worm, the point remains that some prey animals survive because they are dangerous. -Tiffany_ )_

The reason that this report structure is so unconventional is because the volus military itself is unconventional; it includes resources, organisations, and operational plans that most Citadel species don't consider to be defence related at all, whilst volus tend to view their conventional assets as merely a part of their combat doctrine.

The VDF is very much aware that they don't stand a chance at squaring off with a Citadel fleet in a line of battle, at least on the Citadel's terms – they will never match Palaven for sheer numbers and assault capacity, or the avant garde technology of Sur'Kesh, or Thessia's optronics, Silaris plating, and superior eezo cores. VDF High Command unanimously argued that whilst a small core fleet is a prudent investment (mostly for joint deployments with the Citadel and general deterrence), it would be a pointless endeavour to match the Citadel ship for ship, and that unconventional and asymmetric assets are more likely to offer greater returns and ultimately achieve their desired security outcomes. The condescending sneers of the Council races merely reinforce this worldview, and most volus find the militarism of most aliens extremely frustrating.

Keep these notes in mind whilst we examine some of the doctrine and concepts that make the VDF so unique and so dangerous to those unprepared for them.

* * *

 **Competitive Advantages : Artificial Intelligence and Robotics**

VDF High Command has invested _very_ heavily over the years in certain unconventional military applications designed to achieve an overwhelming competitive advantage in the battlespace.

There are two Citadel-sanctioned AI constructs operating in Volus Space. Both of these are based on Irune. Both were carefully crafted over several decades from destructive redbox neural readings of the greatest leaders the VDF and Vol High Court ever produced, using quarian technical assistance paid for with generous donations of pure eezo and hydroponic lifeships and steadily developed by a crack team of the finest programmers and AI specialists in the known galaxy, lured to Irune with every conceivable vice and virtue. One of these AIs manages the fundamental economic constructs and transactions of the entire Vol Protectorate. It is a marvel of sapient econometrics and adaptive economics, and is quite possibly responsible for the remarkable stability of the Citadel credit.

The other is in the service of the VDF, and it manages that organisation's infamous drone swarms and autonomous army. It also acts as a middle-management layer between the VDF and their Vorcha Auxiliary Corps. It has never, not once, displayed any signs of malice or rampancy, and has passed every Citadel ethics test and logic quandary it has been subjected to in the last forty-five years.

We wouldn't have even known that this thing existed if it wasn't for Vigil. He contacted it a few months ago – he won't say _how_ he contacted it, nor will he confess as to just _what_ exactly he was doing in orbit around Irune in the first place – but he did offer some useful insight into the AI in question. Vigil said that it was fully sapient and self-actualised, and that it displayed definite volus personality traits and speech patterns that were evident even in binary communication. _( _Addendum: In their first communication, the wobbly AI asked Vigil "what bounty do you seek from the endless fields of life, Ilos-clan?" Of course, the stupid bastard responded with trolling and told them he sought porn. -Tiffany_ )_

Vigil found this somewhat weird, almost off-puttingly so, but clearly stated that the construct's capabilities should not be underestimated. The volus AI is certainly capable of coordinating several hundred thousand basic drones and/or mechs in an advanced, multi-planetary strategic scenario, and that it is likely augmenting the cybersphere defences of Irune and all critical off-world volus holdings. The overall goals and design of the construct are fairly comparable to the SA's EDI initiative or our own EVA – that is to say, it is designed to act as a force multiplier and asset to the Vol Protectorate. It is nowhere near as advanced and unaccountable as Vigil, nor is it akin to those rampant League of Zero monstrosities. As far as we can tell, these volus AIs genuinely consider themselves to be members of the Vol-clan and the servants and guardians of all volus.

Volus drones and mechs lack the exotic weapon systems and sheer eezo efficiency of the asari models, and they certainly don't have the cutting-edge adaptive combat programming that the STG is pursuing, but the volus can field a dozen units for the same cost as one of those ultra-high-end models and they can be repaired in the field more quickly and using less resources. You'd think that humanity would recognise the advantage that superior economic capacity and societal organisation can provide, given that it's been so critical in so many wars in so much of human history – the expansion and collapse of the Mongol Hordes, the Second World War, the Days of Iron – but no, we don't really learn, do we?

Regardless, most volus drone and mech designs focus on precision firepower and secondary disruption capabilities. For example, a typical support unit will mount a plasma dart cannon, used for antipersonnel purposes, and a secondary ECM suite used to disrupt infowar attacks and enemy squad communications. The objective is always to bolster volus killing capacity, to degrade aggregate enemy capabilities, and to prevent the enemy from closing range and out-manoeuvring the volus.

* * *

 **Competitive Advantages : Volus Organised Crime**

'Volus gangsters.' Go say those words to, well, pretty much anyone and they'll laugh in your face and ask if you know any other good jokes. It's a cheap punchline or a stock character on Westerlund sitcoms (which I still fucking hate, by the way), like 'elcor ballerinas' and 'batarian babysitters.' I hate to play the buzzkill cynic and the sober voice of reason, but yes, volus organised crime is very much a real thing, they're remarkably sophisticated and far-reaching and around eighty-five per cent of them answer to the Vol Protectorate. Volus OC are officially classified as strategic assets by the VDF war planning and intelligence committee and form an important part of volus grand strategy, so obviously, this is an issue that affects humanity and one which we should pay attention to.

Most volus criminal organisations are actually quasi-legitimate and often have entire branches that are run legally – some even have offices on the Citadel and tax-paying employees with their affiliations openly displayed on their business holos! This is partly due to the pervasive nature of commerce, legalism, and secrecy in much of volus trade culture, but also partly due to the fact that the vol courts define criminality principally as 'that which harms all vol life and their capacity to seek the bounty thereof.' So long as all parties demonstrate sound mental capacity, informed consent, and mutual agreement (subject to claw-backs, disclaimers, escape clauses, et cetera) then, technically speaking, the act or agreement in question isn't even considered a crime.

There are exceptions, of course, but much like Ilium, there is very little in Vol Space that is actually illegal in its entirety. Slavery, for instance, is illegal not on the grounds of anyone having a right to liberty, but because enslaving a volus inhibits his/her capacity to extract profit from the universe, and that is something almost all volus find morally disgusting. Incidentally, that slavery prohibition applies only to volus and prevents a volus from directly owning slaves – trading someone else's slaves is permissible, as is benefiting from the slavery of aliens, for they are brutish and un-volus. Likewise, debt bondage and serfdom are acceptable punishments for certain grave financial offenses. Not every volus shares this perspective, and some argue that the bounty exception should apply to all life, but they are a minority.

Where were we? Ah yes, volus organised crime. As you can imagine, the legal flexibility and protections afforded to them by the Vol Courts means that volus criminal organisations enjoy a remarkable degree of operational freedom within the galaxy at large, and they're uniquely placed to offer their services to various alien individuals and organisations. Discretion is assured and profits even more so. Their fees are higher, true, but once you factor in the legal protection and vastly reduced laundering costs, it's still a bargain for most players – especially those who are already forced to the fringes of civilised society as is.

Volus criminal organisations typically act as consiglieres and operational backers for the rougher and less sophisticated players out there, like most Terminus warlords, the Blood Pack, assorted Facinus separatists and turian outcasts, and a handful of influential human mafias. For more sophisticated players, like Aria, the Shifter, and pretty much everyone on Noveria, the volus tend to act as brokerage and professional services firms, offering advanced legal and financial services as well as brokering deals and making connections. The volus also offer these same services to certain VIPs and dignitaries on the Citadel – it's never someone _too_ high up, they prefer to seduce those in the middle and cultivate relationships that pay dividends in the long-term.

What this means is that the Vol Protectorate can call upon the services of a frightening array of criminal elements and proxies. Some owe favours to the volus, some are happy to take any job for the right money, and some simply see it as good business to have Irune in their corner. Each of these groups has connections and assets of their own, and in the case of the Blue Suns, Eclipse, or the NDC they're essentially private militaries. Note that these groups are spread across the galaxy and are often heavily integrated into their host societies, providing the volus with further leverage.

This may not compare to the firepower of a fleet, but volus organised crime assets offer a degree of secrecy, flexibility, and deniability that a clunky military just can't compete with. Want to carry out an assassination of a troublesome public figure? Place a bounty on him and plant false evidence of wire fraud and money laundering to make the hit look like it was justified. Need a distraction before a military strike? A little piracy, some corruption in the officer ranks, and an arcology riot or two will do nicely. Want to get the schematics for that new alien prototype? Plenty of tech gangs that'll take the job for a friend like you. Concerned your ambassador doesn't have enough leverage? Honeytrap one of your rival's staff and let the pillow talk and blackmail flow. You see how these things work.

They work like _we_ do, quietly building our influence in the shadows and waiting for the perfect time to strike.

* * *

 **Competitive Advantages : Biotechnology**

Given the true nature of volus biology… this section really isn't surprising.

The Biodevelopment Department of the Research Division of the VDF is responsible for all volus genetic research, xenological research (including alien biology, psychology, and sociology), and all biowarfare development programs. There are several core programs within the department that are of special interest to Cerberus and to humanity. The VDF maintains an extensive retroviral engineering program, which is divided into offensive and defensive sub-projects.

The defensive projects are centred on the gradual enhancement and development of the volus genome, whilst the offensive projects are mostly designed to exploit or attack alien genetics. Regardless of purpose, volus gene-mod work is highly advanced and essentially amoral in execution; ideally, volus executives prefer to acquire data or research subjects through legitimate and consensual methods – such as by acquiring a promising start-up or by paying for medical test volunteers –but if it is necessary to use less savoury tactics then they will not hesitate to do so. They quite often have to employ a combination of the two.

Honestly, given what most alien races get up to – and humanity for that matter – it warms the heart to see _anyone's_ black operations giving some thought to the ethical consequences. That said, the fact that a bunch of alien megacorp executives are holding the moral high ground here is a damning indictment of the state of the galaxy.

For example, volus 'entertainment' companies on Noveria act as fronts to acquire willing human test subjects, who are paid in the form of free recreational substances and experiences on the condition that they are subject to full medical monitoring before, during, and after the experiment. They have no shortage of subjects; very few humans turn down free drugs and sex, or the opportunity to act out their every fantasy within the dreamscape of a lotus eater machine. This data is then forwarded to the manufacturing conglomerates on Irune and used to further enhance the product experience and profitability before being funnelled back into Human Space via volus-backed crime syndicates, shipping companies, and financial institutions. Volus scientists then study human neuroscience and our genome in order to tweak and improve their product.

This is why volus drug products have far higher addiction rates and purity levels whilst _at the same time_ resulting in fewer debilitating side-effects and with a much lower mortality rate. Bonus: they're also cheaper and more readily available than the competition. The entire operational chain, from research to production to distribution to consumption, is carried out with the utmost precision and efficiency, with all long-term costs and negative externalities borne by a desperately willing subject (humanity, in this case).

Moving on. The salarians are, of course, famous for their scientific endeavours and it comes as no surprise that they directed such talents towards warfare, with the ultimate culmination of this effort being the development and deployment of the Genophage. What few observers suspect – much less know for certain – is that the Vol Protectorate takes such developments extremely seriously and studies them with a refreshing degree of scholarly rigorousness. As a result, Irune possesses the finest biowarfare research labs aside from the Reach Research Compound on Sur'Kesh, and the crafty little volus have been quietly testing their products against bandits in the Terminus (who are guilty of raiding volus merchant ships), batarians (who are guilty of being batarian), and Facinus separatists and Hierarchy dissidents (who are exterminated with glee by a Hierarchy delighted to see their volus allies contributing to the turian cause). We've received unconfirmed reports that the VDF and Unseen Cloud have been trying to acquire viable smallpox and Collapse Plague samples for the last couple of decades, though as far as we know they have not had any success.

Despite violating many of the same sapient rights agreements as NOVENSILES, the Vol Protectorate's biodevelopment work has never been subject to Citadel investigation, let alone sanction or punishment. There are multiple reasons for this. First, the Vol Protectorate holds a sword of Damocles over the entire galactic economy and could easily send the known galaxy spiralling into a decades-long depression if they opted for a 'scorched-earth' strategy. Second, the Vol Court of Corporations, which officially sanctions and sponsors most individual research components, is careful to ensure that each individual activity within a project is either legal in the jurisdiction in which it is officially conducted, or is otherwise executed with a plausible degree of deniability for all involved. Third, the program is officially carried out by the VDF, and so the volus ambassador can claim fair use for research purposes under the collective security accords for most of the public aspects of the program. Likewise, given what the security forces and research agencies of every other species get up to, the volus can (and have) pointed out, rather acerbically, that any condemnation is laughable and the height of hypocrisy.

* * *

 **Competitive Advantages : the Volus-Vorcha Combine**

The single largest and most resource-intensive program within the VDF is the vorcha breeding and mutation initiative. The volus oversee a vast network of breeding pits clustered around a VDF-owned moon in the 'First Sphere' (the term for the first grouping of planets and systems colonised by the volus), and within these pits, vorcha are specially bred and trained for a huge range of purposes. The highest breeding priority is fighter pilots and heavy combat specialists, but security forces, spaceborne repair workers, and hazmat handlers are also in high demand. This may sound like the volus are running some kind of sick and exploitative alien slave empire, but (and this pains me to admit) this simply isn't the case.

Whilst the volus understand the importance of instilling discipline and loyalty in their vorcha charges, and demand both operational efficiency and clear results, they are otherwise fair and considerate to the vorcha in their employ. Said vorcha receive a basic education and access to medical care. They are provided with comfortable nesting materials as well as quality food and water. They have ample opportunity to bond and socialise with their brood-mates, have access to competitive fighting arenas and recreational substances when off-duty, and are well rewarded for exceptional performance.

Indeed, volus executives and corporations openly brag about their vorcha subjects in their advertisements on the Citadel, claiming that the vorcha who are 'employed' by the Vol Protectorate enjoy a quality of life unmatched by any other vorcha. (That's actually true, by the way.) No vorcha have rebelled or turned against their masters since the program started, and a Blood Pack raiding party who tried to 'liberate' a Vol-clan vorcha compound were rebuffed, overwhelmed, and eaten alive for such an insult.

Given the bizarre and highly adaptable biologies of both vorcha and volus, it is unsurprising that the VDF's bioenhancement programs targeting the vorcha are frighteningly advanced. The most obvious improvements are to their strength, reflexes, regenerative capabilities, and overall size. The more subtle enhancements, and the ones that I would argue represent more of a long-term threat as far as Cerberus personnel are concerned, are those targeting intelligence, memory, reasoning, leadership, and social skills. A volus-bred vorcha that can rip a man in half or bite off his head is an obvious danger; one that can effectively lead an entire brood of its kin, whether in battle or as members of galactic society, is far more dangerous.

The VDF tends to test these vorcha in the Terminus Systems against various pirates, warlords, and mercenaries, and I've attached several armour-cam videos to this report. Note how the attacking force is almost blasé and arrogant upon encountering vorcha, led by a wobbly. Note how the VDF's Vorcha Liaison Commander immediately takes advantage of this by feigning a retreat, drawing the mercenaries directly into his reserve of cloaked vorcha, surrounding them before engaging in CQB and… well, you see how that footage ended.

The sad truth is that the Vol Protectorate is the only entity in the galaxy that treats vorcha with anything approaching kindness or respect. Is it really such a surprise that these Vol-clan vorcha are so fiercely loyal to their volus masters?

* * *

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 **SYSFILL 8851241-SUB-TWO:** _Cross check complete_

 **SUCCUBUS-THREE-THREE :: RASA-33**

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* * *

The tale so far has been more interesting than expected. Going over the volus culture and government has opened my eyes to the fact that they are surprisingly… competent at employing how others underestimate and dismiss them. Many aliens have misconceptions of other aliens, and for individuals to take advantage of this is nothing new. What is different is that the volus incorporate such into advertising, foreign relations, and even their military designs.

As with most people who take in the bland surface projections of events, it is hardly shocking that the volus would take advantage of alien stupidity, and as to why they took it so far… one only needs to glance at their model. The turian devotion to the unyielding pursuit of honor, blood-soaked revenge killings, melodramatic speeches and wild sex has led them to ignore anything not as, shall we say, hot-blooded as their own people.

I'm sure you are amused at the idea of me suggesting any of the above is somehow bad given what I do with my free time, Mr. Harper. The difference between my _eccentricities_ and that of the turians is that I don't see myself as normal, nor do I allow my own issues to color my perception of reality. The turians do, and the volus first learned how to deal with aliens thusly. It is fortunate that the volus were not discovered by the salarians.

I range far from the point: volus adapt and conform not to fit in, but to find _advantage_.

The ramifications of this in light of how the volus see both war and violence should raise a moment of concern, as volus see conflict management as simply an extension of asset management. After all, violence is a commodity that drives weapons sales, trade deals, lucrative arms contracts, and much more to fit into their more familiar grasp of profits, duty to the clannu and security.

I decided to take up this inspection myself for a couple of reasons. Tiffany is not equipped with the experience or skills to grasp the intricacies of the volus naval assets. I am somewhat more familiar with such, but given his own experiences with the turian fleet, I decided to employ Pel to assist with this section. Pel himself expressed an interest in such a thing, albeit in a somewhat offhand manner.

And thus, my reasons. One, I cannot imagine any two people more unlikely to function well together as Theodore Pellham and Minsta's daughter. Tiffany, while certainly more capable of holding her tongue now than when we met, is still a creature of wealth, culture, and arrogance. Despite knowing full well that most of Pel's crudity is a cover act, she doesn't grasp why he maintains it, and thus – unable to see between the lines of the story – dismisses his experiences as merely bad luck or self-pity. The result would be a lack of resonant feedback between the two, which might result in lack of important details.

The second and more personal reason I am pursuing at least some of the military aspects myself is that Pel is not _subtle_. Volus culture does not react well to perceived threat and I'm afraid that Theo is nothing but perceived threat. And Pel does not react well to concepts that incorporate what he dismissively calls 'nerd shit' into its paradigm for functionality, which is something of a volus specialty.

As to the volus military itself… I remain bifurcated in my opinion. Their military has expanded and metamorphosed a great deal over the past ten years, from a small number of crude missile boats flinging surplus turian munitions to a modern fleet. While small, this fleet boasts some of the most advanced sensors, bleeding-edge military missile tech, and downright nasty omni-drone deployment capacity in the galaxy – and that isn't counting the addition of vorcha fighter pilots and shock troopers.

Despite this, and the obvious amounts of both money and skill thrown at the issue, I don't see a coherent driving need for this sort of expansion. That should worry you, Mr. Harper. Volus may not always be predictable, but they **never** spend money without a return.

* * *

 **VDF Structure and Volus Ground Tactics**

Volus 'ground tactics' is a somewhat misleading indicator of what should be called 'lines of thinking.' The volus do not see military tactics as distinct from economic or logistical strategies, and indeed, most of their military acts are driven by the latter. They tend to focus only on small strike unit tactics, clan deployment and logistics operations, and naval force projection.

The reason for this is simple: the volus don't follow the expected outlines of the story when it comes to fighting. For most species, tactics is maneuver, the use of weapons, the ability to corral or dictate the fighting terrain to the enemy, and so on. Volus are not so limited. They will embrace heavy losses (at least among their vorcha) and dead end fighting to a degree to confuse and mislead enemies, who are then taken unawares by economic sabotage, riots, and other second-party weakening strikes. When enemies attempt to pursue or lock down military gains, then they are faced with swarms of augmented vorcha, endless serried ranks of robotic soldiers, and enough missile platforms to (literally) blot out the sun as they launch.

More often than not, military attacks on the volus only result in savage losses and volus traders buying up the mercenary companies or pirate groups who attacked them. This is often paired with economic attacks on the underpinnings of warmaking capacity – futures indexes on bulk industrial goods and eezo are driven through the roof, embargos and delayed shipments of required optronics and medical supplies, even denial of DRM annexes for making certain weapons, armor, or electronics products.

These are all the weapons of the volus.

The VDF has a curiously flat chain of command, one where 'rank' is of _more_ importance than connections and only one's ability at performance matters, not one's business acumen, political standings, or the like. The VDF is savagely egalitarian and driven solely by efficiency – there are no armchair generals or REMFs to be found in their command structure, and their officers tend to fight from the front. (Clearly, turian influence.)

The VDF has stock purchase plans, options for bonuses due to combat ability and a number of other jarring components one would usually see in a corporate boardroom, but these only drive VDF members to pursue success.

The VDF senior command trained alongside turians, and as a result, are somewhat more aggressive and impulsive than most volus – going so far as to be willing (and very able) of dismantling multiple turians in hand-to-hand combat and engage in the axe-tossing contests turian males love so much. While no volus can engage in the sort of excessive drinking and sexual escapades turians engage in regularly, they can and will participate in other turian amusements, and much of this has seeped into the regular VDF (and the vorcha recruits as well, who are more respectful after being flung about by their volus instructors as if they were mere children).

* * *

 **General Volus Tactical Considerations – Ground**

Volus are surprisingly nasty on the offensive if you are fool enough to let them play their games, and so long as they keep you at range they're actually masters at terrain control and defensive work. There is a tendency for volus to use mines, traps, and small groups of vorcha assault troops to pin units in place and then smash them with missile barrages, but they also have pop-up one-time missile launchers, auto-deploying razorwire barricades, and the occasional heavy weapons squad dug in behind omni-fields on a high terrain point to shatter flanks and leave openings for the heavier units.

The logical counter to such tactics – either artillery or getting in close and ruining their formations – is something the volus are not only expecting but counting on. Closing range will result in unending storms of flechette and X-ray laser blasts, mixed with scattered sprays of omni-mines from the engineers. More often than not, reaching the volus lines only lets cloaked vorcha melee specialists go to work – and even if that's not the case, most aliens will not do well in melee against a VDF soldier.

We have both telemetry and autopsy data on a pair of combatants, a VDF soldier and a turian merc. The merc hit the volus three times with a warcannon and ruptured his armored suit, which ultimately killed him – but not before the volus had closed to melee. The turian died of internal bleeding as two sections of plating had been smashed _through_ the ribcage and the bony plate in front of the main heart and then into it. One arm had been torn out, and the right mandible ripped off.

You can imagine what kind of fun a lightly armored human Marine would have with a being that can deadlift most of said Marine's platoon. Melee is severely contraindicated.

Artillery strikes result in back-and-forth between your weapons and volus missile barrages, which only get heavier over time. The best response would be the use of constant movement, sniping officers, heavy use of EMP bursts, and biotic assault – if they think an engagement will cost more than it's worth, they will fall back (in good order). Be aware they'll try to hit back again at some point to deter pursuit.

Volus clan tactics mostly rely on a loose network of independent clan assets backing either their own forces – mostly VDF – or working through third-party assets, and it is all designed to confuse and erase any real distinctions between battlespaces – the ultimate goal is to make sure the enemy is constantly under all kinds of assault from all angles at all times.

Remember, different volus clans tend to specialize in their own peculiarities, and as such, each one has its own special role to play in a fight. While clan membership might seem a peculiar divide in a military force, it makes sense from the volus point of view. The VDF is literally considered its own clan. Other clans are attached to a mission to provide support – economic sabotage, logistics management, political cover, intel distraction, hiring external conflict support, and so forth. Each aspect of the fields that determine a successful conflict resolution are handled either by the VDF for the violent parts or the rest of the clans (and the Unseen Cloud) for the non-violent ones.

As such, only fools look for a 'frontline' to any fight with the wobblies. The VDF executive-generals see all of this as the ultimate form of deterrence. Their view is that a foe that is stymied, harassed, economically compromised, and politically divided will find a more vulnerable target or fall to internal dissent long before they could be a threat to Irune itself.

As an aside, this is why the volus are typically seen as more palatable than turians or salarians by humans. The volus want security, peace, trade, and prosperity. After the Days of Iron, a well-to-do peace is very appealing to the poor and powerless masses than endless war and poverty.

* * *

 **Volus Ground Troops**

The VDF prides itself on two things: personal equipment quality and defensive preparations. Even the greenest VDF recruit from a no-name clannu is equipped to the same quality and depth as the elder scions of the highest clans. However, there are strengths and weaknesses to the VDF forces. They do not use snipers, at all, and their use of biotics is limited by the few numbers they have.

VDF troops therefore fall into five broad brackets.

The most basic would be the _VDF Line Trooper_. Typically the youngest VDF clan members, they are fitted with lightly-armored combat suits and light support weapons. These volus man the various mobile and missile defense trucks, omni-field generators, and other non-frontline jobs until they acquire both battlefield experience and the nerve to work under heavy fire. Only armed with flechette pistols and submachine guns, but they do have armor well above that of most human elites. Often given auxiliary functions, the light armaments are often augmented – most will have access to a missile drone or two, as well as mines, micro-missile launchers, and offensive and defensive omni-tool functions, to say nothing of the tricks built into their war-suits.

Once a volus has served four years as a line trooper, they can choose between the VDF Assault Corps or the Engineering Corps.

 _VDF Assault Troopers_ are the most heavily armored volus, with suits that have multiple shell skins and auto-stasis routines in case of suit breaches. Their armor will make heavy use of advanced composites, honeycombed layers of self-sealing omni-gel, and a surface layer customized to the current operating environment. Heavily armed and well-trained, the VDF assault troops carry the big guns and provide anchor points for the vorcha troops, as well as typically acting in a non-commissioned officer capacity.

The infamous _Vorcha Liaison Commanders_ and their _Vorcha Boss Lieutenants_ are a subtype of the _assault trooper_ template. The liaison commanders appear to make use of some… fairly extreme bioenhancements, above and beyond what most VDF volus endure, and are supposedly far more aggressive and violent than the rest of the VDF. Their war-suits are not only suited for melee and close quarters combat, but actively designed for it. The vorcha bosses under their command are bred and groomed for leadership and appear to receive bioenhancements targeting their cognitive and social skills.

 _VDF Engineers_ are in charge of all the omni-tech, infowar, and other field fortification and combat equipment, as well as the drone swarms and all of those innovations. Medium armor is used because they also utilize mass effect-controlled jetpacks to zoom around combat zones, laying mines, turrets, and other methods of defense. Engineers also oversee the line troopers and act as non-commissioned officers.

Senior engineers with combat experience are promoted to the VDF Armor Corps, where they serve as _VDF Servitors_ _._ These engineer-warriors drive the heavy war-suits the volus use to wield heavy weapons such as the Cloudrend. The war-suits themselves are somewhat bulky and slow, so the engineer has a host of defensive technology installed on the suit to turn it into several forms – missile bombardment platform, sensor nest, scanning tower, omni-shield deployment system, omni-drone launcher – and maximize the utility of his skills.

 _VDF Executors_ are the officer corps, drawn entirely from volus who have proven success track records. There are three ranks of such – executor-adeptus, executor-general, and executor-marshal. The ranks are usually shortened to the single word (such as 'adeptus') and roughly correspond to something like lieutenant, captain, and general. Executors wear heavy combat armor with built-in weapon systems and can be tapped to command naval forces or ground units.

The vorcha troopers are officially named _Vorcha Shock Troopers_ , and each one is an interesting specimen. Rather than bother with hard to maintain battle armor, the vorcha soldiers are given subdermal armor implants over their major organs, slim-line armor plates implanted directly over arms and legs, and have an armored mask and life-support system integrated into their bodies. This makes them immune to most gas and airborne poisons, eezo fouling, and allows them to deploy into vacuum, deep space, or in environmentally compromised locations. The vorcha have two pieces of equipment – a riot/combat shield with deployable omni-spikes that is rated to stop heavy weapons fire, and the Havanka Riot Multiweapon. The armor implants are generally made from laser steel – an affordable and effective option.

Some vorcha are heavily biomodified and augmented with cybernetics, but they are still considered shock troopers. Most of these heavy vorcha lead the assault on enemy positions, but a small number are issued stealth fields and remain in hiding, only attacking if the volus assault falters and the executors order fallback positions. The cloaked vorcha are specially trained for such tactics, and demonstrate impressive noise and comms discipline for such creatures.

You can imagine how badly most attacking forces deal with such ambushes, given that their first warning is likely to be half their platoon getting decapitated, incinerated, shotgunned, or otherwise eaten. Such tactics are very effective in urban areas and space stations, given that the messy, distracting environments offer perfect camouflage for the vorcha broods.

Pel is more suited to naval discussion, thus I will let him talk a bit more about Volus naval tactics later on. Instead, let's start with their handheld weapons and suit modifications.

* * *

 **Volus Handheld and Suit Weapons**

 _Nishavatar Flechette Pistol_ : Apparently named for some fashion of acid storm on Irune, the 'Nish,' as it is usually called, is an odd sort of pistol. It is not particularly useful at longer-ranges given the nature of flechettes, and it is, of course, wholly inadequate if one needs heavy armor penetration.

That being said, it can host over thirty ammo modifications (inferno, acid, electroshock, adhesive discharge, and radiochemical are just a few) and against unarmored or lightly armored foes the trauma it inflicts is terrifying. The flechettes are tumbled upon launch and each one will slice right through flesh to leave disgusting wound channels.

While it has an adjustable bore, most operators will keep it in the superheavy range. It fires either single shots or a cluster of nano-machined flechettes in a fairly tight conical pattern. Perfect to stop enemies from closing range or to perform harassing fire, it can also serve as a mine-clearance device if properly adjusted.

 _Bordu-Rol SMG_ : I adore submachine guns and machine pistols. Flexible enough to allow me to move rapidly, not so light as to be unable to pierce armor, and with enough power to tear down shielded enemies. While I know some operators, such as Pel, sneer at SMGs, they are my weapon of choice. To find that one of the best on the market is a volus device is not a shock.

The Bordu-Rol is an unusual weapon built in the usual way. It has the almost ubiquitous ultralight composites, a match grade floating barrel, and a comprehensive modding system.

However, it stands out from most other SMGs in several ways: it boasts a lethally huge seven-millimeter bore. It can toggle between two oversized, hot-swappable phasic ammo blocks that can be fired in swapped sequences. It can be fitted with weapons links to cybernetic arms and eyes, connected to a simple drone to act as a snapshot turret, and, in a pinch, can be modified with a slower rate of fire and an extensible stock to act as a poor man's marksman rifle. Given the enormous bore, ammo consumption is much higher than most SMGs, though most operators see this as a perfectly acceptable trade given its otherwise remarkable qualities.

The Bordu-Rol is carried by almost all volus, although more and more are being sold outside the volus territories as the weapon gains influence and supporters.

 _Havanka Multiweapon_ _:_ This was originally a weapon used by Remembrance, that the volus obtained copies of (and eventually, the copyright and DMR ownership). The weapon is a combination shotgun, omni-axe, and laser designator. The shotgun is an autofire variant that hurls fragmenting fleks – good at piercing light armor and damaging air lines, not good against superheavy armor, and utterly devastating against flesh. For melee combat the barrel also mounts a long omni-axe blade, and the sight of the weapon can be used to laser-tag missile barrage targets. Given it is to be used by vorcha, it is simple to use, clean, and take apart – and very sturdy, as it is constructed mostly out of laser steel. Its affordability is merely a bonus, and volus do so love bonuses.

 _Nessum Laser Shotgun_ : Named after a particularly voracious and dangerous flying cloud creature on Irune that all volus seem to be fearful of, the Nessum is an excellent example of volus ingenuity and craftsmanship.

The Nessum is an X-ray laser shotgun that is connected to the nuclear batteries in a volus suit, or you can get the regular market version that comes with a built-in eezo generator. The Nessum comes with several variable yield features and is, despite the laser optics, surprisingly light and sturdy thanks to heavy use of ultralight composite materials.

It is not a cheap weapon to own or repair, and even getting the license for one is well over one hundred thousand credits. Then again, the beams are invisible, the weapon makes no noise whatsoever, and the X-ray bursts will carve right through most armor types to inflict savage third to fourth-degree burns on anything it hits. However, since it works via certain principles of heat and burning, it is less effective against mechs – though excellent at destroying their sensors and other delicate components.

 _Cloudrend Penetrator Cannon_ : In any other military this would be classified as a superheavy battle-suit weapon, but the volus mount them on heavy mechs and VDF war-suits. It is a very simple device – in essence, an eezo-powered mass accelerator cannon that launches ten-millimeter sabots at a very low fraction of C.

There are a few different kinds of sabots, but the usual one is made from laser steel and coated in some kind of disruptive powder that wrecks shields and causes erratic (and usually lethally explosive) feedback spikes on eezo cores. The other sabots in a standard load out are high-explosive gels in a fragmenting case for antipersonnel work and a gravity-forged depleted uranium version for anti-vehicle work. Given the sheer velocity of these sabots, there is no need for guided rounds. (This also lowers the per use cost of each round. Volus logistics are admirably efficient.)

Whilst the kinetic energy of such a weapon is certainly not as great as that of, say, asari or salarian railguns, keep in mind that the Cloudrend is more mobile, fires far more rapidly, costs ninety-four percent less to operate and maintain, and will utterly destroy anything less than superheavy cyborgs and light tanks.

 _Jalla Assassination Device_ : This device is rather strange, basically a hypodermic pressurized injection rifle that delivers a rapidly biodegradable canister into the target. Normally, the volus who use it connect it with a slender tube to their suits – and then proceed to load it up with the atmosphere of their pressure suits, which is clever since there's effectively a much larger ammo supply (given the compressed atmo tanks each volus has). Given that they breathe a particularly toxic blend of ammonia and other substances best left inside explosives, almost any contact with non-volus living things results in said thing no longer living.

If you are curious, the possible results could include explosive decompression, blood poisoning, necrosis, severe nervous system damage, third-degree plus acid burns, and general shock, leading to death, and of course, the lovely chance of toxic shock syndrome.

For reasons I could not determine, this is named after a volus pastry that is traditionally offered to strangers when they are first invited into a house. I am unsure if this is some kind of volus humor or a sign that VDF weapons designers are just as unhinged as their turian counterparts.

Note that this is obviously not a battlefield weapon. It is for civilian use, as we would see it, but it is effectively undetectable – there is literally no difference between the murderous version and the one designed to deliver emergency first aid or medical payloads.

 _Sunset Grove PDW_ : Volus refer to all suit-incorporated modifications as PDWs, seeing them as a totally different market category to regular, hand-held weapons – apparently it allows them to get around Citadel taxes and restrictions on transporting and selling weaponized augmentations.

Aside from this being a delightfully clever dodge and use of the Citadel's own idiot laws against them, the weapon itself is not that dangerous at first glance. But said first glance would be deliberately misleading – like many volus aspects, the Sunset Grove PDWs are a series of suit-deployed hard-kill measures designed to 'disincentivize' anyone that is a threat to the owner.

More importantly, due to said Citadel regulations regarding open carry, they're all incorporated into the suit design in such a way as to be almost invisible to the casual observer. Pyro-corrosive sprays, lasers, razorwire launchers, and electroplasma emitters are the standard options, and are hardly the limit – at least one Clan Leader/CEO has active black nano deployment systems on his PDW. One very clever wobbly merchant on Tuchanka has his fitted with a subharmonic thumper designed to attract thresher maws – whilst he _was_ ultimately kidnapped and killed by the Blood Pact, this was not before the entire Blood Pack compound, and everyone in it, was eaten by a dozen threshers.

I am beginning to enjoy this story a little more.

Named after the last resting place on the westbound caravan trail leading to the uranium flats and oxygen deserts on Irune, it carries connotations of melancholic beauty and regretful risk-taking when other options have been exhausted.

 _Shattered Skies Micro-Missile Package_ : Details on the specifics of this system were difficult to obtain – Tiffany had to bribe multiple people to even locate the correct person to bribe for the actual information. Given the power of this system, such precautions are not surprising.

The SSMMP is a collection of active and passive sensors (particle emitters/receivers, lasers, RADAR, sonar, ultra-high-def cameras, directional microphones) that is meshed with a hardened VI microcomputer, either in a graybox or in your omni-tool. The VI in turn controls the micro-missile launchers.

The intriguing aspect of this is that the package can be as subtle or as obvious as you like – the customer can have the whole system integrated into their suit or armor, so that anyone who doesn't know what they're looking for won't think there's anything going on. Or it can be mounted in bodyguard mechs, a war-suit, or even a lift chair platform.

The basic missiles are flash-fabbed plastics and a chemical booster with a high-explosive gel warhead, guided actively by laser or passively to the target's last known location (calculated by the VI). Advanced models have their own active seeker heads, a tiny eezo-boosted engine (only a few molecules worth of eezo), and an omni-shell construction. The warhead on those can be whatever you want it to be if you've got the cash: hi-ex, white phosphorus, acid sprays, bioweapons, black nano, compressed radioactive materials. (Rumors persist of anti-grain antimatter warheads, but no current technology could generate strong enough magnetic containment to fit into such a small package.)

These missiles are only the size of a couple of fingers, so an average system can be fitted with over twenty such devices, and a large cyborg (Tazzik, for instance, who was equipped with this system) could carry several dozen missiles.

 _Heavenly Gaze of Irune Shield Package_ : developed by the VDF in conjunction with the turians (and a volus poet who clearly has surrendered to turian melodrama), this shield package is extremely useful and flexible. It's made up of a bunch of omni-field projectors that are studded all over the volus's suit, hooked up to a small eezo power pack for surge capacity, along with a double-overlap kinetic barrier setup.

All of this is controlled by the onboard VI, which (similar to the SSMMP) decides how and when to boost the omni-shielding based on incoming fire and the tactical situation, defaulting to the kinetic barriers. Unlike regular tech armor, it isn't at full power all the time, but as a result, it uses far less power and is cheaper than implanting normal tech armor into a suit. The surge capacity means that full power mode is far greater than market standard, whilst the volus suit batteries ensure any tech shielding also lasts far longer.

* * *

 **BEGIN HELNET ENCRYPTION STRING**

 **NEGOTIATING ARBITRAGE HEADERS…CLEAR**

 **CREATING HANDSHAKE…ACKNOWLEDGEMENT HANDSHAKE ACCEPTED,**

 **MESSAGING SERVICE ACTIVE**

 **From: HERA-ONE-SEVEN-FOUR**

 **To: MARS-ZERO-FIVE-EIGHT**

 **Subject: Volus Files**

Good morning Theodore,

You requested (despite your needlessly crude aspersions on my skill) for me to notify you if we were going to draw up a military summary for the volus. However, per the Illusive Man's instructions, Rasa will be handling at least part of this project.

Any insights you might have after review of this would be useful, seeing as you might enjoy it given how much the volus military has changed since your time with the Hierarchy. As well, you have been granted permission to work up the naval aspects, as Rasa feels us looking into that directly might be… dangerous.

Regards,

 _-Dr. Tiffany Minsta (Head Finance Analyst, Research Corps; Assistant Psycho-historical Analyst, Research Corps)_

* * *

 **From: MARS-ZERO-FIVE-EIGHT**

 **To: HERA-ONE-SEVEN-FOUR**

 **Subject: RE: Volus Files**

Dog Princess, Head Finance Analyst, and whatever the hell else you calling yourself now.

Congratulations on popping your human supremacist cherry and getting your Dog tags.

Naval stuff? You can shoot the shit over anytime, but as for a response, it'll happen when it happens. I mean, this can't be fucking exactly urgent, seeing as the wobblies don't plan on invading us anytime soon.

 _-Pel (Head Badass, Broforce Assault and Nametaking Corps)_

* * *

 **From: HERA-ONE-SEVEN-FOUR**

 **To: MARS-ZERO-FIVE-EIGHT**

 **Subject: RE: RE: Volus Files**

Pel,

It's always so refreshing how _dedicated_ you are to the real things in life. I'm sure you're busy schedule of whoring, drinking, and being abused by your boyfriend Kai takes up all your time, but a review is actually important. Unlike one of your kids, you can't just ignore the orders of our 'bossman.'

Then again, I suppose asking you to focus on anything aside from a female turian is stretching expectations, no?

It wasn't a request. Get it done. Arrivederci and send your work to myself and Mr. Harper when done.

 _-Dr. Tiffany Minsta_

* * *

 **Message Header: HELNET BEGIN ENCRYPTION STRING**

 **NEGOTIATING ARBITRAGE HEADERS…CLEAR**

 **SYSFILL 928281-ADD-FOUR:** _Cross check complete_

 **MARS-ZERO-FIVE-EIGHT :: PELLHAM-058**

 **CREATING HANDSHAKE…ACKNOWLEDGMENT HANDSHAKE ACCEPTED**

 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: PEL**

* * *

Bossman, can I just say I hate that bitch?

Whatever. At least I don't have to go on about turian dicks this time. I looked at the shit above, seems legit enough as it goes. Still don't buy the whole 'wobblies are really dangerous' thing, but I did some digging for the ships and came up with some interesting results.

* * *

 **Volus Tactics and Design**

Volus naval design has come a long way from the old days when they just used to buy a secondhand turian hull and fit it with secondhand turian weapons, then call it a day so they could all go eat and gamble.

The VDF has been forced to take war more seriously in the last couple of centuries for the same reason that the spikes had to learn to pay some attention to business: reality intervened and that cruel bitch didn't give them a choice. You learn or you die, and so the VDF has spent billions developing a whole new family of ships, from patrol boats to dreadnoughts, and all the fittings. Most of the core tech is shit they've developed themselves, like the missile and torpedo systems, ECM/ECCM (since they don't trust the grays with it, rightfully so), and all their command and control systems.

Basic shit like standard sensor suites, hull and core design licenses, and GARDIAN arrays are things they're willing to buy, co-develop, or steal.

Your standard wobbly hull is built from a carbon fiber nano-lattice, infused with diamond dust and with a dual hull sandwiching a honeycombed floating layer of omni-gel. They've layered cyclonic barrier kinetic shields on top on that.

What it means is that you get a very light hull with limited regenerative repair capabilities and good resistance to lasers and particle weapons. Now, the hull itself can't handle any real heavy kinetic impacts – as in multiple direct hits from a battlecruiser or dreadnought – but the cyclonic barriers make up for that and the weight loss means that they have pretty good speed and eezo consumption. Once you're in full production it's actually cheaper than a regular hull design. The wobblies have also learned from human and salarian shipwrights and don't buy in to the big gun fetish that the Hierarchy has – volus ships tend to have a good balance of damage control, ECM/ECCM, and medical and science facilities, though they aren't outstanding at any of this.

Tactics? They don't really have a taste for knife fighting, and will avoid boarding actions (and being boarded) whenever they can, but that's slowly changing with all those vorcha monsters they're breeding up. If they're part of a mixed-species battle group then they'll focus on maneuver warfare, aiming to disrupt enemy formations and then shatter them with missile barrages, and also act as escorts for friendly capital ships if they've got the numbers.

If they're operating solo, then expect them to form a tight core around the dreadnoughts, spearheaded by the vorcha assault units, whilst their drone fighters and missile saturation craft get wild and force the survivors to close with the volus heavies. No matter who they're working with, expect some truly evil torpedo and missile attacks, massed drone swarms and fighter packs, and very heavy use of technologies designed to disrupt enemy command and control in the battlespace.

ECM/ECCM, hacking, ion cannons designed to wreck sensors, dirty eezo warheads designed to wreck ship cores, that kind of thing.

They ain't wedded to this doctrine, though, so every now and then you'll get a VDF captain who is way more aggressive with his assault cruisers, or even adopts some human or salarian tactics. My take is that the VDF is still experimenting with what works best with their current equipment and force posture, so they're open to trying new things and seeing what works and what doesn't. More importantly, they're willing to really study _why_ something works or fails, and they have the political will and the resources to commit to making themselves do better.

Now, on to the ship classes.

* * *

 **Volus Warship Classes**

 _Patrol Boat_ : Everywhere you go in the galaxy you'll find a patrol boat and they all do the same damn job. Show the flag in whatever systems you control. Monitor local conditions and space shit like solar flares and asteroids. Do IFF and customs. Bit of basic policing and anti-pirate ops. The volus patrol boat is bigger than most and is well-made, cheap, with great fuel consumption, modular, and very popular with people looking for something that does all those jobs well.

That's why it's been the best-selling and most profitable vessel in its class for the last four hundred years.

It comes in both civilian and military models off-the-shelf and can be fitted with either a couple of small mass accelerator guns or a couple of APP guns, two four-pack missile mounts, and a small GARDIAN array. The modular bay can be fitted with an extra couple of missile packs, an ion cannon setup, a demining package, media and comms gear, medical equipment, or just extra cargo space.

That's it. The patrol boat is great at what it does but sweet Lord above it is fuckin' boring to talk about. It's like a wizard turned Ezno into a ship.

* * *

 _Cloudrider Corvette_ : Now this right here is where the volus navy gets interesting. About four years ago, some clever VDF officers decided to throw together a little project from all the naval weapon designs they could buy, lease, or just outright steal. The VDF license-built an enlarged version of the classic salarian corvette hull, fitted it out with a gigantic eezo core they co-developed with the Armali Council, then covered it with stealth improvements 'borrowed' from us, and stuffed it with every missile tech the VDF has every developed, along with a fifteen-millimeter APP gun, a couple of ion cannons in swivel mounts on each wing, and a strip of GARDIAN arrays. The result? A frigate-sized vessel that cruises at Mk 70, has the sensor footprint of a patrol boat, and is armed with ninety missiles that it ripple-fires all at once. Oh, and they're the latest quick-reload packs too, so the pain will not end. It won't be over till the volus captain says it's over and asks if you can make him breakfast in the morning.

Another point for the _Cloudrider_ is that the missile payloads can be customized – since it's a universal launcher design – so it could be anything from ultra-high-explosive to antimatter to degenerate matter to black nano. Rumor has it that the wobblies are testing a neutron warhead designed to irradiate the target hull and cripple the crew with a burst of hard rads.

Pretty damn smart if you ask me, since the wobblies' whack-ass biology means they can handle radiation damage better than anything but vorcha, so once your whole crew is dying from a face full of cancer they can just waddle on board and take over all your shit.

This all comes at a cost, of course. A _Cloudrider_ can take a few direct hits from a real frigate, maybe a couple from a destroyer or light-cruiser, but if you can somehow pin the slippery bastard down, then any real warship will blow it apart once you crack those barriers.

* * *

 _First Claw Destroyer_ : The volus aren't too happy with their current destroyer model. It's currently in its fifth revision, but that's getting almost thirty-five years old now and they're about six months away from deploying the sixth version. The current model is based off an older hull design and weapons loadout they bought from the spikes, and whilst they've improved it and tweaked it for VDF fleet tactics over the centuries it's still not a great fit for where they want to go with their navy. The new revision is basically an entirely new vessel, but they have to keep the same class name or they'll forever besmirch the honor of the spike Admiral who gifted it to them or some shit. Old version is basically a previous gen turian destroyer with half the guns removed to make way for a few dozen missile launchers. Boring, doesn't bring much to the volus fleet.

New version uses the same carbon nanotube/cyclonic barrier combo as the rest of the latest VDF vessels and opts for a duo of midsize APP main guns, four ion cannons on swivel mounts, a dozen GARDIAN arrays, and one hundred and twenty universal missile/torpedo launchers. Naturally, these are the latest rapid-reload models. Now, it's pretty big for a destroyer – only the turian one is larger – but the wobblies don't go for too many cruisers, so that makes sense. You'll notice that it's real well-suited for capital ship escort duty and also flexible enough to lead assaults on enemy fleets when deployed as a wolfpack (with those nasty missile corvettes), which is exactly what the volus plan on using 'em for once they come online. Eventually these will form the core of the volus fleet, along with the missile corvettes and vorcha assault cruisers.

* * *

 _Inosnu Heavy-Cruiser:_ The wobblies tend to just borrow refitted escort cruisers from the turians for light-cruiser duty, but they do have a handful of heavier cruiser variants that are just nasty as all hell. The main design is actually a turian/volus design, with the standard turian wing-sweep design meshed with wobbly roundness fixation.

Despite looking a little stupid, this bad boy can drop hurt like nothing else. It's using the stock CN/CB defense system, a twenty-five-millimeter main APP gun, and a pair of twenty-millimeter turrets in armor blisters on top and bottom. That's some heavy firepower right there, but the kicker is the missile load on this crazy thing: _six_ rotary rapid-fire missile pods that each have four-shot launch tubes, four centerline M/AM torpedo launchers paired with dedicated ECCM decoy launchers, and two _aft_ rapid-firing missile launchers – just in case someone sneaks up on you from behind, I guess?

As if this wasn't enough, there's a giant, fuck-all, fifteen-shot, rapid-reload, suppressive rocket array on each wing, which is hurling out eighty-centimeter-wide disruptor missiles mixed with X-ray bursters.

The _Inosnu_ can also launch a pair of FTL burst torps – these launch at FTL speeds and then blow up in a burst of hard rads, X-rays, and other nasty shit. You eat one of these point-blank and even a dreadnought is going to be a hurting unit.

The _Inosnu_ is pretty slow in a fight despite oversized engines, and it doesn't have in-depth armor bands deeper inside the ship – if it takes too many hits, the missile storage bays could blow up. Even so, that would take a lot of pounding – and the whole time this crazy fucker is throwing more missiles at you than a dreadnought could. Fuck outta here, fighting these ships is crazy.

* * *

 _Seeker of the Depths_ : This one doesn't translate well at all, but it's basically a modified destroyer-class vessel that's had most of the really heavy hardware taken out and replaced with every nasty, sleight of hand trick the wobblies could come up with.

It's a stealth ship, a sabotage vessel, a recon platform, a cyberwarfare platform, and also an economic warfare platform (I know that sounds like straight up bullshit, but I'll explain in a bit). My Hierarchy sources aren't entirely sure how many of these things the volus have – some say it's several dozen, others an even hundred, maybe more. The higher figure is possible, given that this isn't a normal warship.

The _Seeker_ is unarmed. No guns. No missiles. What it does have is a full-spectrum emission dampening and signature reduction kit, which Petrovsky says was partially stolen from us and partially bought from the spikes, a photonic cloaking aperture, and a couple of dozen bolt-on kits to disguise it as pretty much any kind of civilian vessel. All that power that would have been wasted on weapons is instead poured straight into the communications, cyberwarfare, ECM/ECCM gear, parallel VI processing arrays, and a payload of FTL comms drones. It carries a load of full-size commercial-grade FTL comm-buoys, plus a shitload more piggyback drones and microsatellites.

The longer a _Seeker_ – or worse, a group of _Seekers_ – are left on-station and undiscovered, the worse the consequences will be. They'll infiltrate your news networks and social media feeds, use 'em to spread panic, fake news, and misinformation. They'll delete patient data in hospitals or place ransomware on critical databases. They'll hack voting records and voting machines. They'll spook insurance and futures markets, go long or short on whole industries and let their buddies back on Irune clean up. They'll plant fake criminal records, alter evidence, or just release existing classified information and sit back and watch the chaos. Payroll, transaction processing, and logistics systems are usually a priority target, but sometimes they'll just launch regular-ass hacking attacks, or stay on-station real quiet-like and just collect intel. I shouldn't have to point out the fuckin' obvious – you do NOT want these guys hanging around Arcturus Station, Vancouver, or any kind of environment with sensitive financial, military, or intel traffic.

Keep in mind, bossman, that most of this is gonna happen to you _before_ the fight begins – they'll send a wolfpack of these fuckers into your dockyards or in orbit around your planet waaaaaay before you've formed a line of battle or even declared war. (And remember that, like the grays, volus think that officially declaring war on TV is grounds for psychiatric commitment. You don't give a stuffy speech to someone when you're about to wreck their shit. You just wreck it and then laugh.) Obviously, they can't fight back much when you've found them, but no navy in the galaxy has the ships and the men to monitor the amount of civilian traffic present in their major systems, and until you catch one of these fuckers in the act, then technically they haven't committed a crime and are under the full protection of Citadel law, which is straight up bullshit if you ask me.

* * *

 _Swarm Interdictor_ : The SA Admiralty nicknames these 'basestars.' The _Swarm_ -class is damn near the size of a dreadnought, but is still classed a superheavy-cruiser since it doesn't have as much (or any, really) direct hitting power. The design is pretty clever, and no one's really come up with anything similar. I guess our carriers are the closest you can get, but it ain't the same. They've got one of these in service and three more being built.

For a start, it doesn't carry any real guns or missile systems and the design is fairly open, almost like a tuning fork. Here's the best part: the _Swarm_ _Interdictor_ acts as a control center and carrier for an autonomous drone fleet. This fleet is linked by hardened ISC/TTL links to the mothership, which is in turn linked by a dedicated TTL swarm to that VDF AI on Irune, and it's bolstered by a parallel VI processing array on the mothership itself. The crew on this thing is tiny – two hundred volus at max capacity – so there's no need for any huge stores of food, water (or liquid ammonia, I guess), living quarters, ship-wide life-support, and all the shit you'd normally expect on a capital ship of this size. All that space goes over to the drone fleet.

It can carry a thousand drones, bossman. Five hundred on each 'arm' of the tuning fork, which is apparently the most efficient shape for launching and recovering drones? Your typical combat model has a couple heavy APP cannons, four universal launchers (so that's four heavy torpedoes or sixteen standard missiles), and a nasty little ECM/laser dazzler/ion cannon suite to fuck with enemy sensors and defend against close-in threats. There's a heavy assault version that drops one of the APP cannons in exchange for a couple more universal launchers. There's a mine-laying version that can lay dormant for six months, a suicide version that carries a _kilogram_ of antimatter, and also a disaster relief and recovery version for looking good on TV.

Apart from that, the _Swarm_ _Interdictor_ itself carries four ion cannons of its own and a shitload of GARDIAN arrays, but those are all designed to keep enemies at bay so the drone fleet can take them apart. Rumor has it this ship has some pretty scary cyberwarfare capabilities, but we don't know for sure at this point.

You know what? I'm skeptical about its lack of weapons and tiny crew too. That drone count does NOT include any security mechs that the wobblies would have on board – or crawling all over the damn hull for that matter – and it ain't like it's hard to store those aboard. I would. Throw in a couple nests of hibernating vorcha and you're good to go.

* * *

 _Kwunu-class Dreadnought_ : Everyone, and I mean everyone, has heard of these things. There's one currently in service, two more being outfitted and commissioned, and two more being built. Along with the _Swarm_ _Interdictor_ , these are gonna form the giant middle fingers of the volus fleet. The _Kwunu_ -class is named after the first volus ambassador to the Turian Hierarchy, who's apparently seen as some kind of hero and shit for negotiating their status as a client-state.

Personally, I don't see how striking a deal to be the middle management caste for the birds – in exchange for them not beating the shit out of you – is some work of genius, but that's just me. Then again, we chose pride and resistance and were on the verge of going extinct till we had our asses saved by a bunch of blue skanks, so what the fuck do we know?

So, the _Kwunu_. Same carbon fiber nano-lattice and ludicrous cyclonic shielding as the _Swarm_ -class, but that's where the similarities end. Triple thirty-centimeter rapid-fire main guns, not a typo. Four heavy ion cannons on fluid swivel mounts for three hundred sixty-degree coverage, and four heavy antiparticle packet guns on a similar setup. Thirty-two X-ray band GARDIAN array clusters studded across the hull in a grid pattern. Finally – and I shit you not – _three-fucking-hundred_ rapid-reload universal launchers capable of firing missiles, torpedoes, or pretty much anything else.

The worst part is that your standard anti-fighter/light anti-ship missiles are small enough to be quad-packed within those launchers, meaning that they can carry all the heavy fleet-wrecking shit you can imagine and STILL have room left over for all the point-defense systems they'll ever need. Keep in mind that a 'light' standard missile will destroy a fighter, almost certainly destroy most patrol boats and pinnaces, and hurt frigates and destroyers. It's basically the naval warfare equivalent of being shot with a pistol – sure, one shot you can shrug off, but take three to the face and it's over. These can also be used to intercept _our_ torpedoes and missiles, so keep that in mind.

Typical loadout is four hundred standard missiles (quad-packed into one hundred launchers), one hundred heavy matter/antimatter missiles, fifty heavy torpedoes (normally armed with degenerate matter warheads, those things will break the spine of a battlecruiser if they get a good hit), twenty-five heavy disruption torpedoes (ECM and ECCM across the whole electromagnetic spectrum, and they're normally fitted with an eezo-powered particle emitter designed to burn out enemy ship sensors), and twenty-five anti-core torpedoes (huge-ass pulse disruptors with contaminated eezo warheads designed to get in close and freak the correction feedback on a ship's eezo core, leading to runaway core collapse and detonation).

This thing carries a metric shitload of refills, depending on the missile configuration, and it has a minifactory on board that can make a few dozen missiles and torpedoes a day with enough raw materials, so don't think you're safe once it's blown its load. These ships have more fucking missiles than a goddamned _space station_.

Goddamn volus.

* * *

 _Vorcha Firecaster_ : Eventually, the wobblies figured out that there are some problems that don't call for a missile barrage that blots out the sun. The _Firecaster_ -class is the latest series of volus ships to come online, and it's designed for nothin' but dirty, nasty, close-quarters battle. It's about the size of a turian battlecruiser, and comes with a trio of main mass accelerator guns, stacks of GARDIAN arrays, and a decent ECM suite, but most importantly, a midsection that's thiccer than Aish Ashland and stuffed full of hundreds of modular drop-shot combat pods.

Each one of those pods is a screeching nest of specially bred and mutated vorcha trained to take on certain tasks, mostly boarding and counter-boarding, but also space repairs and ground assault. Those pods are pretty tough and are designed to be difficult to pick up on most sensors, plus the wobblies will fill the battlespace with electronic noise, missiles, decoys, and general bullshittery before they deploy 'em.

I don't care how much of a bad motherfucker you think you are, once you've got dozens of three-meter-tall, two hundred-kilo mutant vorcha crawling through your hull, all howling and shit, eating your buddies and flamethrower-ing everyone else, you're not gonna be keeping your cool. These ships tend to be commanded by the most balls-out killers the VDF have, bunch of liaison commander vets running on a slurry of aggression enhancers, combat drugs, and testosterone analogue, and their vorcha lieutenants are normally bosses in their own right.

Goes without sayin' that these could just as easily be used for assaulting space stations.

Also goes without sayin' that boarding one of these is batshit insane and about as survivable as doing backstroke on Parnack or flipping the bird at the Batarian Emperor.

* * *

 _Vorcha Fighter_ : Like every good fighter in the galaxy, this was a joint initiative with the Systems Alliance, who licensed the basic design to the wobblies. They then improved it and modified it for vorcha pilots. No idea what we got out of it, though I heard it was in exchange for some hefty discounts on the _Matrix_ -series of M/AM missiles. Anyway, this is a solid fighter, pretty good for space superiority work, excellent at capital ship escort duty, and it doubles as a decent fighter-bomber if need be. Armament is dual mass accelerator cannons, a sixteen pack of dual-use anti-fighter/anti-ship missiles (or eight heavy anti-ship torpedoes), two GARDIAN lasers and a basic automated ECM suite.

Speed is surprisingly good, since the designers opted for a much lighter honeycomb armor/heavy shielding combo, and the custom-bred vorcha pilot can survive for up to twelve hours in vacuum. Vulnerable to area-of-effect ion weapons though, and it sure as hell won't hold up to any kind of exotic or heavy particle weapon fire. The vorcha pilots (and the fighters themselves) aren't quite as good as our flyboys, but keep in mind that the wobbly fighters cost forty percent less and they can breed a dozen vorcha pilots for the cost of training one of our boys.

* * *

 **Conclusion**

That's about all I've got to say on the wobbly navy, bossman. You've got my TTL if you need me. In the meantime, I'm gonna go grab a drink, have a nap, and pray for Minsta's soul, the poor bastard. His daughter is a fucking pile of work and you probably sent her off with Rasa to get turned into a foot rug or whatever the hell Rasa does when she breaks her toys.

One day I'm gonna meet a well-adjusted lady in the Dog, but it is not this day.

* * *

Rasa examined the reports on the padd carefully, before glancing up at the leader of the Lost Boys. "You are sure of this, One?"

The heavily muscled man in front of her nodded silently, and she pursed her lips, blood-red hair shifting slightly as she set the padd on the elegant naggi-wood desk. The accommodations on Vol Prime were always outstanding, easily the match of the best Cerberus had to offer.

She made a gesture with her hand, and the three Lost Boys left her to her thoughts. After a long moment she tapped her omni-tool. "Seven. Head back to our ship, fire up the QEC and communicate to the principle that I suspect the initiator of events against the client is the hosts themselves. We've ID'd a curious financial transaction in the nightly take from Vigil, review file CE-3949-TMMVP. Wait for a codename response and contact me when complete."

Clicking off, she rose, checking her outfit once more. Minsta's daughter was mingling with the elite of the station tonight – volus CEOs, salarian investors, turian autarchs – and she was posing mostly as the head of a security detail for her.

She exited the room to the side of the main convention hall, glancing around before identifying Six standing next to Tiffany, immaculate in a black neo-double-breasted silk suit with slim-line armor plates underneath. The girl was wearing blood-red and black and engaged in a lively conversation with a pair of volus in equally expensive looking slicksuits and a human male she thought was a high-ranking VP in Dynacore.

She waited until that broke up before walking over to Tiffany's side. "Plan on moving out late tonight, after midnight. I'll have my men move your luggage before that point. How attached are you to that racing pinnace?"

Tiffany blinked. "…Might I ask why?"

Rasa's lips quirked. "Not here. But we may need to use it as a distraction. The situation is more serious than I thought – the earlier attempts were not mistakes, but probes to see what forces we had available." She grimaced, lowering her voice. "The Troll Ball picked up a six-level buffered financial transaction to the accounts of the Azure Lily. He says she'll be on-station in a day. I'm good, but no one has ever survived fighting her."

She found herself trying not to smile at using the ridiculous codename they'd come up with to refer to Vigil, as apropos as it was.

Tiffany gave her a look. "Didn't you beat Tyriun no Kage?"

Rasa gave into her amusement and smiled. "I beat him because he didn't take me seriously and I used the terrain. If he'd had another five minutes I'd have been yet another corpse. No matter. Continue mingling and gathering data for your important people file, then retire around 2100. Assume our regular comms are compromised and expect delays and trouble. I'll talk more once you get to the room."

She slipped to the left and vanished into the crowd, and Tiffany merely huffed in exasperation.


	11. Chapter 11: All Under Heaven

**A/N:** _This massive piece (31k words) is the masterwork finale by_ ** _Jacob_** _. While **SLotH4** and myself added or edited some things, the vast majority of this file is entirely **Jacob's** work, and represents the culmination of his work on the volus._

 _It's taken a long time to edit this because **Jacob** is dealing with a lot of personal issues, and I am blown away by his dedication to finishing this project._

 _The timing on this is set just after Ilium catches fire._

* * *

 **All Under Heaven**

 **An Intermission and a Coda in Six Parts**

* * *

 **' **Frolic And Wonder'****

 _'While the wise shall count their wealth not in coins but in influence and allies, the fool sees only the glittery silver and ignores that he is alone. When the fool is set upon in the wilds by ravenous beasts, there is no one to hear his cries for help. Money is useless in solitude.'_

 _-The Book of Plenix, 'Greed'_

* * *

The Sunset Grove was a place of calm wonder and affirming beauty.

Tiffany wandered along paths of stone and coral, each polished to a smooth sheen and set amidst the soil like a mosaic. Sheets of moss and vines grew like the walls amidst enormous, contorted towers of fungus. Streams flowed upwards and sideways, defying gravity before ducking under and around everything else.

She could see colors and smell fragrances that had no word in any human language. She could wander through a place few of her kind even knew existed. She could converse with beings who, only a short time ago in human history, were confined to the imaginations of science fiction.

She reached a clearing. In the middle of the clearing was a single wooden stand, upon which sat two empty glasses. Dazzling rays of orange light pierced through an enormous window the size of ship. She turned and looked out into the void, seeing the maelstrom of Irune's atmosphere below, and in the distance, the great star of Aru.

Tiffany stood there for a long time, staring at the sight before her, lost in its majesty.

"Friendly noises," said a voice behind her.

Tiffany whipped around and was confronted by a volus stroking a rabbit. The volus looked up at her with a peculiar combination of awkward earnestness, like a newborn deer. Three other rabbits played at his feet.

Tiffany recovered her poise with practiced ease. She bowed in the volus manner. "Oh, hello. Greetings. I am Tiffany of the Minsta-clan. Might we share some hospitality?"

The volus made a clucking sound. "You play the game well, but I see you. I see everything, and it is almost too much to bear."

Tiffany wasn't quite sure how to respond to that.

The volus seemed to realize what he was saying and switched his rabbit to the other hand, stroking it more quickly. He bowed. "Greetings, Tiffany of the Minsta-clan. I am Kumun Shol, Gaur of the Shol Combine and Sanctified Proctor of the Vol Protectorate."

Tiffany gave a soft, coquettish laugh, a motion she'd perfected over hundreds of cocktails parties. "We've met, briefly, but never alone together. I must say, this is quite an honour, Kumun Shol."

"Hmph. Your flattery is acknowledged," said Shol, and he put the rabbit down on the ground with the others. He reached into a suit compartment and pulled out a number of small metal flasks.

Shol waddled over to the wooden stand, unscrewed the caps on the flasks, and began mixing two drinks in silence. Once he was finished, he beckoned Tiffany over and handed her a glass.

He held out a stubby hand. "Walk with me, Tiffany of the Minsta-clan."

"Uh, of course," said Tiffany, and she took his hand in hers as they began to stroll through the Sunset Grove. The rabbits followed, frolicking around them.

Tiffany observed her new companion.

She'd heard stories of Kumun Shol, of course. Everyone in Wobbly Space had. Alternately manic and withdrawn, sociable and utterly apart, brilliant and barely functional, Kumun Shol was a man who could comfortably converse with Thanix Palavanus as an equal, and yet, it seemed, barely make eye contact with her right now.

"Tell me of your clan and clannu, Kumun."

Nothing.

"Kumun? Are you alright?"

The volus considered this. "No. But we must all become who we are. My wellness doesn't matter. Perhaps it never did. It may simply be a matter of perspective."

"How so?"

"Imagine that time is a cone, and that this cone can be shifted as if you are moving the very paper it is drawn on. Imagine that could redraw the compass itself, making it wider or narrower. Imagine that you could redefine what the words 'time,' 'cone,' and 'compass' even meant to living beings. Imagine being able to see all of this and not being able to stop it in any way." Shol shrugged, a curiously human gesture. "This life is more than anyone could ask for, and yet I feel as if I carry the weight of all of Irune in each hand."

"In which case, why _not_ spend all your time holding hands and patting rabbits?" said Tiffany, her voice droll.

Shol looked up at her, and when he spoke it was as if a great burden was lifted from him, even if only for a few moments. "Yes, Tiffany of the Minsta-clan. Yes."

Tiffany smiled. "Let's keep walking."

They did, and Shol slowly became more and more animated, drawing Tiffany in with all the irresistible force of a gravity well as he made her head swirl with talk of science and politics and art. He had a marvelous ability to make her feel as if she were the sole person in all the galaxy meant to hear these words, as if he had picked her especially out of an audience of billions, and when he asked her a question he listened with an intensity and sincerity that most people reserved for prayer.

 _It's almost beautiful having someone listen to you like that. You feel… truly seen._

Tiffany had no idea how much time had passed or even where they were. Surely the Sunset Grove couldn't be that large? But when she looked around she didn't recognize anything familiar, and it was almost as if the ferns and the pillars and the moss had all rearranged themselves at their passing. And then, mid-conversation, Shol suddenly decided to stop. He kept holding her hand, keeping her in place.

Tiffany looked around but saw nothing and no one aside from them. "Kumun? Are you alright? Is something wrong?"

His voice sounded tired and hurt. "The darkness is coming, Tiffany of the Minsta-clan. The black leaves obscure the real threat, and all will be lost if we do nothing. We have but one way to stop them."

"What do you mean?"

Shol looked up at her. "I am sorry."

"Whatever for?"

"For this," he said, and he squeezed Tiffany's hand and she gasped as she felt a hot sting and then—

And then darkness took her.

Kumun Shol caught her as she fell, gently laying her unconscious body on the soft grass. The rabbits continued to frolic.

"I am sorry, Tiffany of the Minsta-clan. But this is the only way you will survive this day. Fools do not see the Hand that tilts us all into the pits of the Below, and Darkness follows."

Kumun Shol stared into the distance at something that only he could see. "I am sorry."

* * *

Inalia T'Rome was not a woman given to needless displays of emotion. Or, for that matter, emotions of any kind.

She admitted that this was perhaps unsurprising, given her upbringing and past. She'd been raised from birth as a weapon, spent centuries with the finest huntresses and war priestesses, and even trained at the hands of Okeer himself. Her life was a long and unrelenting tidewash through the shallows of murder and discreet intimidation long before she took a single step off of Thessia.

She'd spent hundreds of years killing for the House of Storms and had long ago elevated assassination into an art form. Any fool could kill a man, but it took exquisite skills to do so at the opportune moment, in a specific manner for a specific purpose in order to further the asari cause. To do so in a fashion from which others learned the intended lesson without having to commit additional acts of violence was the highest form of said art. To do so in a manner that most species couldn't even fathom until decades or even centuries after the event was a further mark of excellence.

Amateurs thought that this business was about killing, but it wasn't. It was about shaping behavior.

Emotions only clouded that. Pity, mercy, empathy – these were fine things for normal people, for people whose highest concerns were less encompassing, for those who didn't have their every action, every word, every moment evaluated and measured and judged. For the 'Sword of the Thirty,' however, emotion was weakness.

Giving her heart to the waves and trying to feel _was_ something she had done when she was much younger, as many asari did. She'd turned away from her endless parade of kills to bond, to have children, to taste what 'normal' felt like. She'd had a good thirty years of what people could call peace. She'd imagined centuries of such peace with her mate, perhaps on Tuchanka itself.

She understood how such a thing could appeal to normal people.

And then it came apart, in fire and blood like everything else in her life. Her own mother had gone against her, bitter at the loss of face she'd suffered when Inalia stepped down from her position as the high assassin of the Thirty. Aethyta had done the job and had reminded everyone just exactly _why_ she was the High Swordmistress of the asari, and House T'Rome paid the price for Inalia's joy and peace.

At the time, Inalia never quite understood how _she_ was a disappointment to a House that had, in that century alone, produced Midnight's Kiss, Waveloss, the Priestesses of the Black Sun, and about twelve percent of the Nightwind.

Her own mother had manipulated those Weyrloc barbarians, and they had killed her mate and children. Her mother had even attempted to 'punish' Inalia herself, though that had failed miserably.

For an asari to bury her own mother gave Athame herself cause to weep, as the saying went. To have to kill your own mother was a horror few could even imagine, much less carry out. To find the peace of your own home an abattoir of blood, to be forced to witness the mangled bodies of your mate and the children you had together was…

Unbearable.

To know that you were ultimately the cause, and that your own weakness was to blame? To know that if you had only been better, or if you had just kept killing instead of chasing a dream, such a tragedy wouldn't have happened?

And then to discover that it really didn't matter, as it had all been done by your own mother in the name of making a better weapon? Those were burdens that few could tolerate, and even fewer could endure and have their loyalty intact. But then again, the Council of Matriarchs had not plotted such a thing. They'd offered her to remain in retirement, proffered mind healers, done what they could to soften the blow.

But there was nothing. Okeer had said it best: "there is no healing from destruction of the soul."

 _He'd know._

She still missed him. That was the one other emotion she couldn't bear letting go of. Inalia admitted that there were parts of her psyche that simply didn't respond anymore, but she didn't need them now. It was better that way.

Granted, she was not unique. The T'Soni girl had been one of the very few who had known the pain of killing your mother, though she had also ended up losing everything. She had at least gone down fighting, and her mother, by all reports, had died herself and not tried to murder her own child out of misguided hate of the T'Armal.

Aethyta and Tela Vasir could relate to her life of murder from experience, but then, she thought, both of them served more as a cautionary tale than anything else. Aethyta had overplayed her hand with Benezia and her Triune, and Tela…

Well, Tela was even a worse wreck than Inalia. There was actually a betting pool among the Council of Matriarchs as to when the poor fool would just shoot herself and end her own misery – which, Inalia thought, was a little harsh, if not unlikely. Elites were like that, though. It seemed to her that no one who was widely feared and famous didn't have some kind of fucked-up mommy issues, aithintar issues, dead mates, tragic histories, broken relationships, or just flat-out mental instability. Worst of all, most of them were more melodramatic than a season of Fleet and Flotilla.

Come to think of it, the only being she'd even half-way respected who embraced melodrama was Tetrimus Rakora, and she'd beat his whiny ass – twice – which to her mind rather proved her point.

Inalia gave a wry smile at the memories. Emotion, pride, melodrama, sorrow – such things were for people with easy lives and no real responsibilities.

Her introspective brooding finished the moment her omni-tool flashed an alert across her HUD. An incoming call, from the secure line that indicated someone had gone through the Council of Matriarchs to reach her, which implied their approval of the contact. She patched it through, and soon the corvette's display screen was filled with the features of Kaltoth the Depthwalker.

Her manner differed from other volus in the way that ardat-yakshi differed from ordinary asari, thought Inalia. There was something far harder there. Not so much more focused, since most volus were focused, but crueler and more selfish and above all else, more uncaring of other people. Even among the criminals of the galaxy like Aria and the Shifter, Kaltoth _scared_ people, because with her, it was never just business. Kaltoth behaved less like a person and more like a capricious, malevolent deity from myth.

Her facemask was thicker and heavier-looking than most volus, with a jet-black mirror finish. The borders were etched with aggressive geometric patterns the color of dried asari blood, all of which culminated at the top of the mask in a relief displaying an eight-headed lictor struck upon the ground. Behind Kaltoth glowed the neon lights of Afterlife's VIP section.

Ordinarily, volus bored her, but then this was no ordinary assignment. Or volus.

Kaltoth spoke, and her voice sounded exactly how Inalia imagined a nexa beast would. _" _Inalia of the T'Rome-clan."__

"Kaltoth," nodded Inalia, speaking in her usual dialect, an even more archaic form of High Asaric. "I see the Matriarchs have no issue with your… plans. What news do you bring?"

 _" _To business, then? Very well. We can confirm that the Minsta-child is… otherwise occupied, and will not be present during your assault. Cerberus is aware of your presence, though,"__ said Kaltoth, and even through the distortion of the facemask Inalia could sense frustration. _"The Vigil-construct has compromised some of our earlier communications. We have since rerouted them via the VDF AI cloud – the Vigil-construct will be able to break the encryption in time, but not without us knowing – and this conversation is conducted using dual-script one-time pads."_

Inalia gave the ghost of a smile. "That won't matter."

The volus fixed her eyes on her. _" _I expect you have planned for this."__

Inalia simply inclined her head.

 _" _Good,"__ said the volus. _" _You'll receive a flat fee for each dead Lost Boy, along with whatever other personnel Cerberus has. The Vol Prime security managers will recover and confirm the corpses. Any intel you recover will be negotiated after the fact on a case-by-case basis."__

Inalia's voice was cool. "And the priority targets?"

 _" _Aside from what the Thirty would no doubt reward you? For the Minsta-girl, alive, ongoing support for all your future operations in the entire Traverse. A child of the Lords of Sol would give us a great deal of leverage. And,"__ said Kaltoth, leaning into the screen, _"if you eliminate Rasa… we will deliver you your mate's biotic torc."_

To her credit, Inalia did not betray a trace of the emotion she felt at that. Centuries had passed since she had bathed on the beaches of Thessia or hunted in the wilds of Tuchanka with her mate. Nothing could ever bring those memories back, but this was the one fading ember of feeling that Inalia could not bring herself to say goodbye to.

That the Weyrloc chieftains had had the _gall_ to keep her mate's torc after killing her, for the 'crime' of being a fertile female that they couldn't have, as well as 'blood price' for the Weyrloc she'd killed at their home once she'd discovered who had killed her family – well, that merely ensured Inalia would never forget and never forgive.

That her mother had incited them didn't matter. She'd forgiven her long ago.

"I assumed that the Weyrloc had claimed it as part of their blood price and locked it away in their clan holdings."

Kaltoth's voice was full of amused malice. _" _They__ had _."_

Inalia briefly considered how Kaltoth had managed to deal with said Weyrloc, and on balance, decided that she didn't really give a shit.

"No doubt the threshers ate well that night," smirked the asari. "Very well. We have an agreement."

They spent a few more minutes discussing the operation before Inalia concluded their business and killed the connection. She took a moment to adjust the warp swords hanging by her waist, her ice-blue and jet-black armor seeming to melt into the background, even under the bright lighting.

Inalia T'Rome turned around to face her staff, a nightmare menagerie she had carefully curated over the centuries, for whom a shared life of hunting the enemies of the Thirty had bonded them together more closely than their own families.

"You have your orders. Execute."

* * *

All over Vol Prime, dozens of players began to ready themselves for the stage.

In a nondescript conference suite, the last remaining STG assets on-station received their orders from a terse, clipped, senior field agent, and began quietly running through their gear checklists. They paused only to roll their eyes at being reminded to hold the line and that the salarian people appreciated their sacrifice.

At the lobby of a hotel that catered to tired business travelers and wannabe executives, a Hades field team – currently disguised as a market research group from the human Corporate Court – grumbled as their trip to the bar was interrupted by a flash alert on their omni-tools.

They had Dogs to hunt.

Amidst the tangled bedsheets of an absurdly decadent apartment, the last senior Broker operative on Vol Prime – a brown-plated turian who was far, far too old for this tark-shit – sighed as his comms specialist rudely walked into his room and repeated a single codeword before leaving. He sighed again and gave an apologetic look to the escort sharing his bed, her own mandibles flicking in wry amusement.

He figured he'd be dead in three months anyway, seeing how things were going for the Broker Network these days, so dropping a month's salary on her company was, in his humble opinion, a spirits-blessed way to live your life.

In Tiffany's apartment, two Lost Boys ran another check on the perimeter whilst a third swept the room for spyware. They checked their omni-tools. No word from the principal. This was still within the expected parameters – for now – but things were getting a little tense for their liking.

Far above them all, in the glittering, Silaris-plated sphere that served as the primary security center for Vol Prime, the volus security managers laughed as they counted the bribes they'd received from five different parties.

* * *

 **' **By Strength And By Guile'****

 _'The strength of Humanity is not in our numbers, for we are few. It isn't in our minds or bodies, for we are soft and slow. It is not in our technology, or our position, or any of the host of things other alien beings rely on. Our strength is in our soul, our defiance in the face of death and our will to never surrender. A wise man plays to his strengths and makes his weakness irrelevant.'_

 _-Doctor Galen Minsta, 'Understandings of the Human Soul,' Citadel Restricted Reading List_

* * *

Tiffany Minsta woke up alone in the Archive of All Under Heaven.

She had no recollection of how she had arrived here.

She had, she supposed, spent months, _years_ even, fantasizing about the contents of this room in much the same way she did about the Reach Research Compound or the Temple of Athame or, if she was in a particularly nerdy mood, the Library of Alexandria or perhaps Ashurbanipal.

She took a deep breath, the sound hissing through her helmet.

 _Oh, I'm wearing a full environmental suit. Right. Suggesting that the local environment is wobbly-standard._

The air was cool, seventeen Celsius according to her suit, but the humidity was extremely high, almost equatorial and jungle-like. The room was, she supposed, enormous, shaped like a coliseum or amphitheater, but felt strangely intimate. The floor was tough, polished, and stone-like in some places, and yet seemingly organic and sponge-like in others, all gleaming inky-blacks and bronze greens, royal-purple and spilled blood, with the occasional splash of brilliant white or orange.

It was beautiful and majestic and faintly melancholy, in the way that Irune herself was all these things.

She was surrounded by volus statues in various poses and sizes. Some appeared male, some female, some were even children, some appeared to be sculptures, they were so massive.

She moved closer to the statue in front of… a colossal thing that simply couldn't be an accurate representation of any volus, living or dead. It was too large, too unlike the bodies of the volus she saw on the Citadel or even on Vol Prime, though it did remind her a little of the very oldest statues on Irune itself.

She found herself staring up into its eyes.

 _Wait._

 _Why would these be arranged like human eyes?_

 _These must be hundreds of years old at the very least, thousands, maybe even tens of thousands, the wobblies had no need for these structures then, and even so, the first species they encountered was the birds. They'd imitate turian forms, and this statue isn't dog-legged, the legs are like mine._

She looked away from the statue, breathing more quickly as she shot nervous glances around the room.

 _This was done for my benefit._

There were no sounds.

 _I am the audience._

There was no movement.

 _They know I am watching._

There was no one else there.

 _They are watching me._

Tiffany looked back and the eyes of the statue blinked at her.

She screamed and leapt back but her body was already half-turned to run, simply by animal instinct, her nervous system treating this system shock as it would a predator launching itself out of the undergrowth, and Tiffany fell sprawled on the strangely cool floor of the room. A light mist curled around her body as she scrambled back a couple of meters and looked up in fear and awe.

The 'statue' had unfolded and unpacked itself, growing up and up like a tree or a mountain before settling on an enormous humanoid form, a collective organism that towered almost six meters over her. It was instantly recognizable to her as being volus-like, and yet certain features struck her as utterly strange or uncanny, like seeing extra limbs and growths on an otherwise smiling human.

The gel-stem was colossal, glowing a vivid crystalline-blue and stretching up and around the creature's torso, around which were arranged a bizarre collection of… other torsos, ball-like objects that could stretch and reform themselves into limbs and hands or organs or weapons or even faces, each connected to the other parts of the being by vines and moss sheets and gleaming, greenish-bronze plates of crystalline armor.

The entire creature seemed to glisten and shimmer as fog flowed around it like a monsoon hilltop, and even through her helmet filter, Tiffany could smell something that reminded her of hiking through the forest floor.

It spoke, and its voice shook the floor and reverberated through her and spoke to the very heavens themselves. **" **Greetings, Tiffany of the Minsta-clan, child of the blue planet and dim yellow star."****

Tiffany starred in utter awe before finally collecting herself. "I— Uh, I. Greetings. Greetings. This is some unexpected but welcome hospitality. What tell of your clan and clannu?"

 **" **Your manners are better than most, child, and for that we will humor your request. We are the Seeker of the Archive of All Under Heaven, in which you stand. For one of your kind, this is… a rare honor."****

 _Oh my God._

Too many thoughts rushed to her mind, like thirty people trying to get through a door, and she couldn't decide just which questions to ask or which comment to make. She was still too full of shock and wonder.

She pointed to the other statues around the room, and to the plinth where the Seeker stood. "How… how did you do that? No one has ever heard of such a thing, we never suspected it, we thought that they were once volus, but we never imagined…"

 **" **To reanimate one of our statues is no trivial thing, yes, that is true. It requires a great deal of skill and experience, but most of all it requires patience, and a deep respect for the anima within the crystal."****

Tiffany frowned as her mind caught that last detail. "It's not a crystal, though. The crystallographic analysis reported a nonsense mix of solids, several of which were amorphous, not crystalline, _plus_ the liquid traits, and that makes even _less_ sense, since what is ostensibly a diamond should not behave like a wave on the surface of water, _and_ —"

The Seeker made a whistling sound from… somewhere. **" **It's a metaphor, child, keep up."****

Nothing.

 **" **And you people consider our kind to be humorless."****

Tiffany huffed and went to speak before she was cut-off.

 **" **We must also point out that chipping off a sample of a statue for the purpose of laboratory testing is the height of bad manners, and is almost certainly sacrilegious."****

The Seeker made a peculiar trilling sound.

 _Is that laughter?_

"What… what are you? What were you?" asked Tiffany, still full of wonder and an irrepressible curiosity.

 **" **You have been searching for that answer for a long time, child, but you have met me many times before in the annals of our history, in the great tale of the Vol-clan."****

 _Oh. Seeker. It's so obvious._

 _…too obvious._

 **" **See how the wheels turn,"**** said the Seeker, gesturing at Tiffany's head.

Tiffany raised her jawline a little, the way she always did to her university tutors when she _knew_ she'd gotten the answer right before she'd even said it. "You are the first Cloudseeker, and by extension the first one to walk upon the clouds of Irune under the heavenly gaze of Aru."

 **" **Yes. And what is that, really?"****

"…I don't understand."

 **" **No, you don't. You asked a question and got an answer, but you do not understand the significance of it. The purpose of it. The what. Not the why, for that is not knowable, nor the when, for that is foretold, nor the who, for that is irrelevant, nor the how, for that is obvious, but the _what_."****

Tiffany considered this for a while, her mind churning.

"Such a thing would make you the first… planimal? The first proto-volus to ever exist, if those Cloudseeker texts we recovered are true, and our translations accurate."

 **" **The texts are true, though your translations are… inelegant and artless, if serviceable."****

Tiffany suppressed a giggle. _Oh, father's going to love having his psychohistorical translation work corrected by something older than human fire usage._

The Seeker trilled again. **" **Galen of the Minsta-clan is very clever, and a devoted father, but he is not truly capable of suspending his need to think like one of your kind. This is by design. But no matter. Continue."****

"We… we spoke to a hermit Wheel Priest, tracked him down from the Black Rim to the Traverse. All he wanted were old Mesopotamian tablets and texts, but he…"

The Seeker simply stared at her to continue, and Tiffany felt a slow, tingling warmth course through her, as if someone was slowly dripping morphine into her body.

"…he gave us what we wanted. He confirmed your existence, spoke of Vani meeting with you many years ago, and gave us the oldest copy of the Empty Gate we'd ever seen."

The thing seemed to be breathing heavier now, throatier, more urgent. **" **And?"****

"And the correspondence that came with that copy was dated and addressed. There was centuries' worth in there, thousands of years even. It was addressed to you." Tiffany was silent before she spoke again. "You are the 'Shrouded Divine.' "

 _I've gambled my life so many times in the last two weeks, what's one more roll of the dice? But please don't kill me._

 **" **Very good, child. Very good."****

Tiffany cocked her head. "You're not…?"

A snort that shook the room. **" **You think very highly of yourself, Tiffany of the Minsta-clan. This will not save you from your current predicament."****

"And what's that?"

 **" **You are being hunted, hunted by the Azure Lily herself. Inalia T'Rome. She is on-station. She is not alone, and has her support staff with her and her reconnaissance team was in place for the last twelve hours. You will not survive when she comes to take your life. Your companions will die as well."**** The Seeker's voice was business-like, merely stating the obvious facts of her situation. **" **Even alone, she would be beyond you and all your companions."****

"Rasa could—"

The Seeker closed a single palm. **" **You know little to nothing of the true nature of the woman who minds you. Her anima was damned long ago, a fact known to her but not to you, along with that of her pet. Whether this was in vain, or in the service of a vile or noble cause, remains to be seen, but the damnation itself is irreversible."****

"I wasn't commenting on her _kindness_ , and damned or not is irrelevant," said Tiffany, wounded pride recovering a little venom in her voice, "Rasa is extremely dangerous, aware this 'Azure Lily' is coming, and has her Lost Boys. We aren't defenceless. The Dog has teeth. The Broker's felt its bite before."

The Seeker's voice was definitely amused now. **" **It was not the _Broker_**** **who sent her, child. Think harder. Think more carefully about certain figures of note you've been writing about. Consider the duality of my nature and also the correspondence you discovered. Consider that I am not the only party involved who may still be alive."**

Tiffany couldn't cover her shock at that, breathing in sharply as the Seeker made that strange trilling noise again, the one she assumed was… laughter?

She gulped, the sound echoing through her helmet, and her mind raced. All the time, the Seeker watched her.

 _It couldn't be the Cloudmaster, she has no taste for murder… though some of her allies aren't so squeamish. The Ores Tashen? Maybe. The VDF and their vorcha have a thousand ways to kill me without bringing in an outsider, no, it has to be someone with wealth and power and no hesitation to use violence, but—_

 _—but they must be tied in some way to constant struggle between the Depthwalkers and Cloudseekers, they must have some reason to keep caring about dead history and—_

 _—and they can't be seen acting too openly here, and— Oh._

"Kaltoth. Kaltoth the Depthwalker. It must be her."

The Seeker spread its enormous hands. **" **Well-considered, child. Your mind is young but blooming."****

Tiffany gave a short bow in the manner of a hospitality offering. "Well, thank you."

 **" **And clever enough to have learned our pleasantries."****

"Well, I—"

 **" **And yet not clever enough to have avoided the obvious danger of provoking one of the galaxy's foremost crime lords, who, in turn, contracts the galaxy's foremost assassin."****

Tiffany said nothing. A random thought occurred to her. "…I did not see the danger, and now I am wondering if I was sent out as a lightning rod." Emotions roiled within her – her father would never do that, but she'd been told more than once that Harper did not share everything with him.

The Seeker's voice almost sounded sympathetic. **" **A danger you were not even aware of until your security minder told you of it, and even _she_**** **did not know until the 'Dog,' as you put it, told _her_ , and even _they_** **did not know until the Innusanon construct told _them_. To say nothing of the fact that said Innusanon construct is, ironically, the sole reason you came to their attention in the first place."**

He shifted slightly. **" **While Cerberus is above no atrocity, it is unlikely you were sent out to die by them. The same cannot be said for Vigil, however."****

Tiffany flushed as the Seeker made that goddamn trilling noise again.

 **" **Your master must know that the Innusanon construct is responsible for far too high a proportion of Cerberus's value-added activity. You would each be dead many times if not for that device. He should hedge against this, but he sees all of us – volus, humans, asari – as mere children, or perhaps clever animals. Losing one in a gamble to determine how an enemy responds is no loss to him."****

"Vigil might, but why would he even care about Kaltoth. Unless…"

The Seeker stared at her as she finished her thought.

"Unless… Kaltoth never sent them at all. Unless that was a lie, and this was a ruse, and all the other attacks were a bluff, and it was _you_ that orchestrated all of this."

 _Of course, if that's true, I have perhaps two or three more seconds to live before I'm brutally killed and my body either shot into Aru or literally fed to vorcha. In which case I hope I give those vorcha the shits._

She grinned to herself.

The Seeker sighed a deliberately human sigh. **" **If only melodrama was confined to turians. Child, if we wanted to kill you, there is nothing you could do to stop it. We would not strike you in violence, but turn the hand of your own High Lords against your House. While Inalia and her kind are dangerous they are also limited in ways we are not… and we would not stop with one death."****

The Seeker's voice dropped. **" **Furthermore, we would not invite you _here_**** **to do that. We are not a Palavanus. We are not having a murderous duel in our mysterious lair. You are here to deliver a message to your employer. Everything you have discovered so far is a part of that message. Your presence is merely a safer conduit that cannot be intercepted."**

Tiffany opened her mouth to speak but the Seeker cut her off.

 **" **Every report you have written. Every piece of evidence you have collected. Every person you have met. All were a part of our design."****

Tiffany raised her head again, her voice waspish and defiant. "And if I don't cooperate with you? If we don't simply roll over and do what you say?"

There was something feral in the Seeker's voice now. **" **Then the Azure Lily will not be called off. I trust I do not need to belabor the results of that."****

 _Oh. Well that's nice._

"And to think you were such an enlightened and peaceful being until now."

 **" **Much like our elcor brothers and sisters, we abhor violence for violence's sake, but we do understand the value of deterrence. In the great struggle against Entropy, all aspects of life must be embraced. Furthermore… allowing you to die would be a waste, but the wrath of the High Lords would fall upon Kaltoth. While such would not destroy her, it would only enable other figures to reach higher balance.****

 **" **We are prepared to endure things we find distasteful in the name of survival. A mantra I believe your Victor Manswell also embrace. So… do we have an accord?"****

Tiffany thought about this before grudgingly agreeing. "And what message do you have for the Illusive Man?"

The Seeker spoke slowly. **" **There are two messages. One is rather general and informative. Kaltoth is not acting out of anything but prudent concern. Aria has been a known value and a vulnerable one for centuries – if she was to ally with Cerberus, however, it would lessen many of her needs for the Circle of the Fallen to begin with."****

Tiffany nodded, grimly putting pieces together in her head. "Mr. Harper's wealth is deeper than Kaltoth's… and less focused. She's scared of being cut out of the loop!"

 **" **Precisely. As I said, your Inusannon device is disruptive… and more than able to make the sort of things Kaltoth specializes in of zero utility to Aria, while offering his own abilities would be very attractive to Aria. On the flip side, if Cerberus sees Aria as a liability – and Harper would have no real choice than to see her as such if Kaltoth has you killed – then cooperation will be less of a threat. Thus, this… act. Which we have turned to our own advantage to send the real message."****

The Seeker turned to stare into her eyes, its voice grave and gravelly. **" **Tell your master that the volus will aid humanity when the galaxy turns dark, but there are other forces rising. Tell him to heed the voice of the Wheel Priests. Tell him that the black leaves blown in the wind are _symptoms_ , not the true threat. That something comes beyond them, _above_**** **them – something terrible, that none of us survive if we do not stand together. And Tiffany, of the Minsta-clan?"**

Her voice was a whisper. "Yes, Seeker?"

 **" **Tell him that this will all be happening sooner than any of us dared fear."****

* * *

Rasa arched an eyebrow at her omni-tool, then shook her head slightly. "Three. Take half the Boys and prep Docking Bay Sixteen for ' _Hello There_ ' protocol. Use the M/AM anti-grain mines – all of them."

She looked up. "Five, set the rest of the team in sniper oversight positions on the main ways from Bay Sixteen, and assume the explosion will _not_ take T'Rome out. Use fragmenting phasic rounds, Series B, with the ionic-channel depletion toxins. Once you've hit her with those, split into pairs and fall back by secondary routes to bay thirty-two – where Minsta's pinnace is – for extraction. Hold there as long as possible before using the drop packs and explosively venting the bay. Your encounter suits have a two-hour air supply and sufficient monoprop to get you back to the station. Once back aboard, switch to uniform code V and head to Bay Forty-Seven."

She took a deep breath, and Three narrowed his eyes. "And you?"

She merely made a motion with her hand. "The principle has been taken by what I suspect is some kind of volus party organized around the Seeker. I'm going to extract her and determine if she's compromised or not. Assuming not, we'll head to Bay Forty-Seven where we have our own ship."

She plucked her twin SMGs from the wall of the shelf in front of her, sliding them into the slots of her armored slicksuit. "And if she's compromised, we'll remind people why you don't go poking at dogs. Execute."

Five seconds later, the room was empty.

* * *

Inalia decloaked and slipped into a dark corner.

She had finished coordinating her efforts to thwart Vigil, a task the volus were only too happy to assist her with, given how frustrated they were by the Inusannon AI's financial shenanigans. The fact that Vigil served Cerberus was merely another reason to dislike him.

The plan was simple, which made it more likely to succeed: deny Vigil any available bandwidth and otherwise limit his capacity to communicate in real-time and aid Cerberus personnel. Even slowing Vigil's ability to respond by a few dozen seconds or a couple of minutes would, when combined with Vol Prime's own AIs and cyberdefenses, enable them to achieve battlefield dominance.

In this case, she had just finished disabling every possible optronic connection, fiber optic cable, laser link, and wireless connection to this entire section of the station, having already had the volus maintenance manager send out a notification that the systems were down for routine repairs. The volus had even offered cutting-edge jamming systems and faraday meshes for the section. They had short-range comms and a tight-beam link back to their ship, but that was it.

Inalia had no doubt that Vigil – and, by extension, the Cerberus personnel here – possessed some kind of capacity for quantum entanglement communication, but that was an order of magnitude less threatening than his true remote presence.

Of course, this assumed that Vigil didn't act _directly_ , but in that case, she was most likely already dead. The STG report she'd read on Vigil didn't skip the tides between its dark humor and frustration. Fighting it would be only slightly more survivable than fighting a black hole.

She sent out a quick biotic pulse, almost undetectable to any observer, and, once satisfied the area was secure, glanced at her omni-tool.

One of her Dancers had sent her a pic-capture from his spycam. A team of mixed humans, all wearing that hideous and utterly ineffective black body armor with dark red clothing, clumsily barging their way down a loading bay in a kind of oafish parody of stealth.

Her first thought was: _Honestly, humans. What was Uressa thinking?_

Her second thought was: _Ah, Hades. The inept manipulations of the High Lords and their blatant arrogance truly knows no bounds._

She smirked. Deploying her talents against these people was like calling in an air strike on a potato, but she figured it might be funny. Plus, it never hurt to give her team the practice.

The Thirty were unlikely to care, and if they questioned her actions, she could always point out that this sent a rather unmistakable message to any would-be terrorists thinking about targeting asari interests. Plus, they'd already signed off on whatever Kaltoth wanted, so…

She sent a brief reply to the Dancer. _[Continue to monitor them in concert with your partner. Use them to trigger any traps and spook the depths. After that, proceed with the plan.]_

The Dancer pulsed twice on the comm-link.

Satisfied, Inalia opened up a custom application on her omni-tool, a rather nifty piece of highly restricted software she'd acquired from the STG via the SPECTRE office.

* * *

The salarian cursed as an anonymous comms request popped up in his visor, having already been filtered by their counter-intrusion protocols and granted access through the firewall.

He could think of a couple of reasons why that would be, none of them good. He nodded at his comms officer to patch it through, noting with approval that the man moved to trace the call without having to be asked.

"This is Senior Field Agent Gol. Identity yourself."

A voice that sounded like laser steel frozen in a glacier sounded in his ear. _" _This is Inalia T'Rome."__

The salarian froze as he felt an icy claw drag down his spine at the mention of that name.

A chilly laugh. _" _You look nervous, Agent Gol."__

He spluttered as he darted his eyes around the area and gestured to his team to take cover.

"I… forgive me, chalessari, I was not expecting this rare honor. How may the Special Task Group be of service?"

He hoped the honorific title, an archaic blend of old-cant and High Asaric that roughly meant 'bloody-handed princess,' would, if not flatter her, then at least cool any murderous urges.

 _" _No doubt you are aware of the Cerberus personnel here on Vol Prime. As are several other parties. As am I. I propose, as a matter of professional courtesy and in the name of good relations between our species, that we avoid hostilities with one another and focus on the relli in our pool."__

The STG officer considered this proposal for a few moments.

 _Argument: killing Azure Lily likely to lead to familial glory, fast-track promotion, general riches._

 _Tempting._

 _Counterargument: probability of killing Azure Lily approximately equal to probability of breeding offer from all SIX Dalatrasses. At once. Plus an LoZ sexbot._

 _Not dying? Highly attractive._

"Very well, chalessari. Not locking horns is the most logical and preferable option. We will leave this channel open for further communications."

That voice spoke again. _" _Very good. T'Rome out."__

Gol shuddered after the call cut out. He turned and glared at his cell. "Which one of you gaping cloacas was meant to be on overwatch?"

* * *

 **' **The Hunger'****

 _'Fear is a knife I have long used to flense the useless from the hard. Once you remove fear, you remove hesitance, morals, guilt, and above all else, restraint. And instead of a being who kills in fear of the other, you have the perfect weapon to cultivate crippling fear in your foes.'_

 _-Rasa Diem, 'Private Notes: Neverland'_

* * *

The Lost Boys held their positions amidst the hallways, plazas, and corridors leading to Bay Sixteen.

Waiting. Watching.

Five was in command, and with him, were Six, Eight, Ten, Twelve, Thirteen, and Fourteen. The others were with Three and currently rigging up antimatter charges in the bay itself. Whilst the charges would, in theory, kill anyone and anything within their effective radius, Five had no delusions that the Azure Lily would fall for it. At best, it would kill some of her support staff, but largely it would serve to distract her and her people from him and his snipers. If the wobblies were spooked and tried to secure the area, so much the better – that would allow for a cleaner withdrawal.

In theory, their phasic rounds would have the best chance of shattering her barriers, and the Silaris-core on the series B slugs would be well-suited for penetrating her armor. Multiple fire lanes and mixed sniping styles were the textbook counter to her biotics, and the Lost Boys themselves were certainly dangerous at close-range.

In theory, they had a possible chance to succeed here. Not great odds, perhaps one-in-three, but better than almost anyone else could manage.

In theory.

And yet reality took a certain delight in breaking people's comfortable theories. This, in Five's considered opinion, was a reflection of the struggle between strength and weakness, between the delusions and fantasies of 'ordinary' people who desperately wanted to be special, and the silent judge of reality reminding that they were not and never had been.

That said, a part of him did relish this opportunity to test himself in the great struggle between all living things.

He clicked his subvocal comm-piece. _"This is Five. Status?"_

 _" _Six. Clear."__

 _" _Eight. Clear."__

 _" _Ten. Clear."__

 _" _Twelve. Visuals."__

Five frowned. _"Acknowledged. Confirmation?"_

 _" _Thirteen. Can confirm visuals and encrypted comms chatter."__

Five considered this as he quickly reviewed the incoming data on his HUD. _"Comms signatures consistent with salarian infowar protocols used by the grays we disposed of earlier in this operation. Assume hostiles are STG."_

 _" _Understood."__

There was silence for almost a full minute, and then a low voice spoke in their earpieces.

 _" _Fourteen. Contact."__

A subtle tension spread across the battlespace as each Lost Boy felt their senses come alive with an intensity and a hunger that could not be matched by any other pleasure.

 _"Five. Identification"_

A grin that was almost audible. _" _Hades."__

 _"They're… going for a frontal assault?"_

 _" _Why, yes. Yes they are. How delightful."__

Five paused, and then made a mocking, bleating noise. _"Baaaaaaaaa!"_

* * *

Agent Dalix sighed again. He really was getting too old for this tark-shit.

Still, age has its advantages, chief amongst them experience. He'd taken part in hundreds of operations over decades in service to the Shadow Broker, and he figured he'd seen almost every trick there was. He had the scars and body count to prove it. Taken a few losses, broken a few talons and splintered a couple of plates here and there – but who hadn't? That was the price you paid to survive. If you couldn't handle the way the eggs hatched in this life, go be a shopkeeper or an artist or some shit.

He and his people moved quickly through the maintenance corridor that ran outside the superstructure leading to Bay Sixteen. There were no windows, only bland gray corridors, generic storage crates, thick pipes for carrying water and air, and dozens of fiber optic cables and optronic links.

This, thought Agent Dalix, was the difference experience made. He knew the STG was on-station, and though he hadn't been able to get hard IDs for any of the other attackers, his volus sources hinted that they were a mix of mercenaries sent by the humans and Aria.

Plus, he'd seen that oversized corvette in the VIP bay. Everyone in the Broker Network knew that ice-blue and jet-black color scheme like it was the howl of a vakar.

 _A frontal assault? Against that kind of tark-shit? Spirits take them. Honor's no good if you're dead._

They reached their destination, a nondescript maintenance hatch that led to one of the secondary storage rooms near Bay Sixteen.

 _Hmm. Blow through the hatch and storm the nest? No. Better to take advantage of the noise and chaos._

Agent Dalix turned to his salarian tech, nodding as the man took out his omni-tool and began cutting through the lock on the maintenance hatch. "Slowly and quietly, Kori. Slowly and quietly."

The salarian nodded and got to work. To his credit, all Dalix could hear was a gentle whooshing noise, and he was only two meters away.

He paused, looking at each of his people in the eyes. "No seeking the Imperator's favor out there, understood?"

One of the batarians blinked. "What?"

Agent Dalix sighed. "No dumb shit. No glory-seeking. Use your spirits-damned heads and watch each other's fringes. Anyone does any holovid hero shit out there and you'll feel my talons up your chute. Got it?"

They all nodded.

"Good. Kill team, find some sniping perches or lean in on the traps and ambushes. Hit-and-run. Heavies, dig in whilst we aren't noticed, set up whatever barriers and omni-screens you can, throw in some turrets, then hit them with explosives and heavy weapons fire as soon as we go hot. Priority target is Cerberus, but kill any STG you find. There's a bonus if you recover any actionable intel off the bodies. Use channel three for comms and fallback to six and then two if those are jammed. Withdrawal through this hatch if possible, then any other maintenance points, otherwise use tertiary corridors. Do NOT use any of the main thoroughfares; places will be a damn vakar's nest. Rendezvous at warehouse B-442. Avoid the hotel. Questions?"

They covered a few minor details before all were satisfied.

"Alright, spirits guide you," said Agent Dalix. "Let's spring and leap."

The maintenance hatch swung open in utter silence.

* * *

Five held himself perfectly still. His cybernetic rebreather and internal gyros ensured that no bodily movement was necessary, but even inactive they would make no difference. No, this was a matter of discipline and focus. This was a hunt.

There was no greater thrill in all of existence than this moment.

Most people's pleasures were passive and weak, because most people were passive and weak. That was simply the truth, and frankly, Five had contempt for them.

If they drank or smoked or shot up, it was to feel less of reality. If they fucked, it was to feel wanted, to tell themselves that they really were desirable, to desperately believe that finding someone willing to suck their dick meant that they had value as a person. If they prayed, it was because they were scared of death and wanted to feel that, even for a moment, they were special in the eyes of God. If they socialized, it was to try and reinforce their own inflated status, not realizing that they knew the price of everything and the value of nothing. If they clung to a code or an ideology, like a baby on the tit, it was because they were too empty to define themselves through their own choices.

This, all of it, every maudlin, self-indulgent, shallow effort to feel special? It was pathetic. It was, Five concluded, likely the downfall not just of humanity, but of every species in existence. This overwhelming need to tell yourself that you were special, through any possible means, when you were not.

It was exceedingly unlikely to change.

Their Mistress had taught them how to lift the veil and perceive reality as it truly was, and for that they were eternally grateful. He considered her mantra: instinctive reflex; unconscious reaction; impulse satisfaction; identity dissolution. Repeat it, refine it, and revel in it. It was a superior way to live, one that resulted in objectively superior beings, but sadly, most were too weak to seize it. They were too busy thinking that they were special.

 _Bullets are the best way to remind them that they're not._

It would happen soon. Five could feel it. The pieces were in place and, like a conductor of a great symphony, the god of war knew exactly how to draw out every excruciating moment until the tension was an almost physical force and you were begging for the gunfire to start, just so you could feel release.

 _This is why there is no pleasure in all of creation that can compare to this, here, right now._

To be a Lost Boy was to be a creature for whom penetration of the Other through violence was a transcendental experience, an ecstasy that exploded across your consciousness like an orgasm. Everything else was, at best, a pale imitation and at worst, a lie in the face of reality. If anything, killing was an even more intimate and meaningful form of connection. It was the ultimate expression of knowing someone and truly being known by them.

 ** _YES._**

Yes, Five could feel the hunger.

And then there was—

Movement.

And the hunt began.

* * *

To the surprise of no one, a Hades trooper was the first to die.

A CAT6 washout from the Alliance military and an ill-fated combination of arrogant and undisciplined, the Hades trooper was first through the breach along the main thoroughfare leading to Bay Sixteen. His torso was almost immediately hit by multiple APP rounds, his right leg by a sustained burst from a Harrier, and his jaw by a masterful snapshot from a Manur rifle that left its salarian owner grinning.

What was left of the trooper's body would later have to be removed with a hose.

The rest of the Hades personnel panicked, desperately wiping splattered gore off their faces and launching themselves into whatever cover they could find before attempting to return fire.

Senior Agent Gol was displeased. Whilst certainly no match for his team, these Hades fools were an unnecessary complication and, at best, a distraction from far more dangerous threats.

"You," said Gol, pointing to two of his Junior Agents and then in the direction of the Hades personnel. "Deal with them. Make it quick. We cannot afford delays."

The Junior Agents both nodded and began to move out.

Gol turned and pulled two smoke grenades from the bandolier across his chest. "Marksmen, overwatch. Techs, jamming, turrets, rocket drones. The rest, on me."

He threw the grenades a few dozen meters ahead of them, activated his chameleon cloak, unsheathed his SMGs, and began slinking between cover. His men followed.

Unseen and unnoticed by anyone, two red-coated drell ran through shadowy catwalks above them in utter silence.

* * *

Agent Dalix was annoyed and yet somehow unsurprised that the firefight had almost immediately turned into a vakar's breakfast.

Frankly, he thought, that's how most firefights tended to go, and it was stupid to pretend otherwise.

He brought his Phaeston back up and pulled the trigger, watching in satisfaction as the drone disintegrated into flaming plastic shards, but not before its wingman zipped to the side, firing a burst of flash-forged rockets at his position. He cursed and leapt aside, crashing into a corner amidst stacked storage crates.

The drone spluttered and dimmed mid-air before crashing to the ground, inert. A pistol shot rang out and the drone was no more.

Agent Dalix looked over at Kori and nodded his thanks. His salarian tech specialist was bleeding from one horn, hunched over his omni-tool, spluttering words to himself and looking up every few seconds to make a snapshot with his pistol.

The salarian spoke, his voice stressed and quick. "STG drones. Pack tactics. Plan to flush us out in range of their turrets. That or pin us in place for grenades, snipers. Either way, bad."

Agent Dalix grunted. "I can see that. They haven't advanced, though. I want to know why. Spirits know we're not charging in there."

"Tactics conservative, suggest hesitation. Perhaps casualties, perhaps… 'feeding us to the vakar,' as you might say."

Agent Dalix's spurs started tingling, and then his comms were filled with howls and shotgun blasts.

* * *

Deeper in the direction of Bay Sixteen, Five and his Lost Boys were holding position amidst a series of gangways, catwalks, and loading bridges overlooking a crowded plaza. Five tensed as he heard a slight swishing sound of brushed metal-on-metal and saw the blast doors on all four secondary access corridors open up. He tore his eyes away as flashbangs exploded and smoke grenades masked the area and a phalanx of RAMPART mechs emerged, omni-armor barriers in lockstep as they spooled up their weapons.

It was only by blind luck that Five made out the hulking forms of vorcha before they activated their cloaks.

Five and his Lost Boys opened up with their Harriers, destroying one mech outright as its sensors and processor were caught in the crossfire of three separate rifles. They damaged two more and watched as they limply raised their omni-shields, one RAMPART at the rear spraying them with some kind of heavy plasma rifle, the superheated darts blasting scorched craters in the plascrete and forcing two of the Lost Boys to run for better cover.

Five watched as Ten reached into belt and pulled out a fouled eezo grenade, arming it and tossing the device into a group of mechs. Five followed up with two high-explosive variants.

The eezo payload exploded in a dazzling display of electric blue light, looking almost like the ionized glow of radiation, and then the high-explosives shattered the air with a booming crack.

Two more mechs were a smoking ruin, but one was spared the worst by its omni-shield and was entering its automated reset routine, the baked emergency electronics immune to eezo effects.

Two more RAMPARTs opened up on them with heavy plasma fire, and the Lost Boys were forced to stay down.

 _Suppressive fire intended to soften targets, degrade capacity for fire and movement, deny situational awareness, and allow vorcha melee specialists to close in._

It was an obvious tactic, but, he conceded, obvious does not mean ineffective.

The absurd irony of being killed by his organization's own mech designs was not lost on him. At least they didn't have the regeneration ability of the Cerberus version.

He'd already had Six try and hack them, aiming to spoof their IFF protocols, but the volus had expected this and the RAMPARTs appeared to have been reprogrammed. In any case, the mechs were communicating solely through line-of-sight laser bursts.

He cursed and opened his comms, his voice not panicked but certainly urgent, a trace of stress that was not present earlier. "Three, this is Five. Contact with multiple secondary and tertiary hostiles. Mechs, vorcha, infantry. Request **immediate** backup."

 _"Acknowledged. Moving now."_

Instructing Ten and Twelve to provide overwatch, Five kept out of the mech's line of sight as he made a low, shambling run to his right, reaching the staircase that led to his loading bridge. He quickly took three rolls of gray, plasticine-like material from one of his suit compartments, using his omni-tool to flash-forge proximity sensors before attaching them to the rolls and slapping them on three sides of the entry corridor. He moved back a few meters, just out of sight of the entryway, before tapping his omni-tool and arming the flashpaks.

He paused and decided to deploy a heavy anti-personnel turret for good measure, slapping a little extra omni-gel armor on it and opening up the bores on the dual mass accelerators.

All the while, the battle raged around him.

Ten and Twelve held the bridge, exchanging fire with the RAMPART mechs, their heavy Harrier rifles quickly shattering omni-shields and forcing the machines to slow their advance. Six was positioned on the far side, tapping furiously on his omni-tool as his engineer's pack kept spitting out drones and turrets. Five checked his HUD and saw that the entire local electromagnetic spectrum was a broken wall of white noise. This was unsurprising, and Five considered ways he could turn that to his advantage.

Below them, Eight had deployed his omni-shield and pulled out a heavy shotgun in preparation for the vorcha. Deeper into the plaza, Thirteen and Fourteen were acting as designated marksmen, remaining concealed and sniping at whatever RAMPARTs they could. One more mech was already a smoking ruin, its head and core blown apart, scattering half-molten dags of metal and shards of electronics over the scorched flooring.

Five could hear shouts and screams and curses in a half dozen alien and human dialects. He could taste the acrid burn of smoke on the air. He could smell seared flesh and burnt hair and coagulating blood.

Most of all, he felt alive.

* * *

The STG comms officer made a strangled gurgling noise as a subsonic sniper round tore his throat out, splattering rank green blood over his face and chest. His companions dragged him into cover and slapped medi-gel on the wound, clenching their hands over it to stop the bleeding, but he was already going into shock and blood was flowing over their hands like a burst pipe.

Senior Field Agent Gol cursed in every language he knew and swore by Shego that he would kill the one responsible for this.

Far away, Inalia T'Rome smiled. One of her Dancers had actually taken the shot, but the STG didn't know that, and now not only would they blame Cerberus for this, fueling the blood-feud between the two groups, Senior Field Agent Gol would now _have_ to commit his forces against the Lost Boys.

Right on cue, her omni-tool sounded.

Gol couldn't cover the rage in his voice as she heard gunfire and screams in the background. _"Chalessari T'Rome. We have engaged with Cerberus forces. There are likely other hostile parties in the vicinity. I propose we combine our efforts. The STG would be greatly appreciative, I assure you."_

Inalia pretended to consider this, and decided to add a little sympathetic warmth to her voice. Aliens often expected an asari to be, if not soft, then concerned about the welfare and unity of the group. And what were expectations, after all, if not another opportunity to exploit?

"Agreed, Agent Gol. Forwarding tactical data and IFF handshakes now. I'm also sending reinforcements to your position – four of my commandos, two Blackwatch melee specialists, and two techno-savants. We'll stiffen your echelon and play the huntress to your drummers."

Gol knew enough asari slang to understand her, and he sounded relieved. This amused her. _"That's as workable as anything right now. We can't attack them directly until you arrive, but we do have enough grenades and tech weapons to make that work."_

Agent Gol paused, and when he spoke his reedy voice had hardened. _"Not all of my kind have forgotten the old ways, chalessari. The STG will honor you for this. Gol out."_

Inalia was pleased. This would add to her already extensive backlog of favors with the STG, currying influence with the Matriarchs at a time when it was… beneficial, really, to drive a wedge between the SIX and the STG. Besides, it was hardly a liability for her. She already had her most senior commando guarding the ship, along with an entire brood of carefully raised vorcha. Her three Dancers were prowling ahead, her secondary team was getting in position to pounce on the Lost Boys in Bay Sixteen, and she had three Priestesses in reserve.

Her Dancers were failed Dancers, true, and her Priestesses were failed Priestesses, but not a single one of those women had failed on account of their _skills_. Inalia had made sure of that. She expected losses, of course, but they were acceptable losses. Everyone knew the risks, and everyone was committed to the cause.

Inalia reactivated her cloak and resumed her dance through the shadows.

* * *

Kilometers above and away from the battle, in the sleek and heavily armored sphere that served as the primary Vol Prime security center, the volus security managers clucked and fussed over the incoming data. In one corner, away from the haptic displays and next to an enormous craft services table, stood a whiteboard, upon which the volus had quickly drawn a spread of betting odds and rough equations.

"You've isolated the area away from the station's main power, supply, and comms lines, then?"

"Yes," nodded an eager young volus. "We also expect them to detonate at least one of their docking bays, possibly as many as three. We've already taken insurance policies out on them, and have pre-filled the lawsuit documentation. We've even got scoops in place to recover the discharged atmosphere."

"Very good, Livi," said the acting-manager. He paused, and gave a smile. "Were the vorcha brood your doing?"

Livi simply pointed to the hulking VDF Vorcha Liaison Commander occupying three entire seats.

"Ah."

The VDF officer made a gleefully feral noise, his rebreather hissing. "A fresh batch. Boss Logah wishes to test their cognitive enhancements, and so this brood requires… blooding."

The security manager wasn't really sure how to respond to that.

Livi coughed. "RAMPARTs alone are insufficient, and they never said they _didn't_ want vorcha. They may even consider it a bonus. Assuming any of them survive."

The security manager glared at them. "This shifts the risk pool. I am tempted to call your cover bets."

More clucking. "Shall we double them? Would that suffice?"

The security manager nodded. "Acceptable. Now, have the sweep teams ready. While you're at it, alert damage control – we might as well minimize our recovery costs. And I so enjoy turning Cerberus's own weapons against them."

The VDF officer grunted. "Alert the communication node. We could profit most handsomely in the marketplace of public opinion by blaming this attack on the human supremacists. Offering to cover up Hades involvement will also gain us profit with the High Lords of the Earth-clan."

The security manager reclined in the command chair and placed his fingertips together. "Excellent. Make it so."

* * *

Three led his Lost Boys in a disciplined run to aid their comrades, moving through the corridors leading out of Bay Sixteen as quickly as he dared. He had One, Two, and Four with him. He'd instructed Seven, Nine, and Eleven to lure whatever enemies they could into the Bay before detonating the M/AM mines and joining the rest of them.

Their fear responses were dimmed and rendered almost unresponsive from long years of killing and hypnotic instruction from their Mistress, but even so, they were covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

It was rare for any of them to experience this kind of challenge, and part of Three was forced to admit he enjoyed the novelty more than he expected.

They slammed to a halt, not knowing why or how, it was as if they had run straight into an invisible wall. Three felt his nose break and a trickle of blood began to flow out.

There was no one else in the corridor. Only them.

 _"Status."_

Nothing.

He tried again. _"Status."_

The subvocal comms implants were not responding.

"Status," he said aloud.

He looked around.

The first thing Three noticed was the burst blood vessels in One's eyes, and the strange smeared look of his Harrier rifle, the logo blurry and the composite material slightly distended.

The second thing he noticed was Two making a choked gurgling sound before his cybernetic rebreather cut in, the man taking heaving, gasping breaths as he started coughing up blood.

Three tried to move. Why couldn't he move?

He was suddenly aware of how dark the corridor had become. He looked around and saw that none of his people's weapons or omni-tools were responding.

The third thing Three noticed was that he could no longer feel anything below the neck.

Why could he smell almonds?

The last thing Three noticed was a blur of ice-blue and jet-black armor, and the flash of two warp swords.

* * *

Cobalt-blue blood spurted out of Agent Dalix's jaw as he headbutted the howling, mutant vorcha.

He screamed, his voice flaring, and stabbed it again and again and again in the cheek with his own severed mandible. He watched as it gargled and slumped to the floor and died.

 _By the spirits, this is satisfying._

Kori limped over and put a bullet in its skull for good measure. The single shot from his Carnifex pistol boomed across the corridor, echoing off of each crate and corner.

"Must destroy the head," said Kori. "VDF vorcha regenerate very quickly from almost any other wound. Won't stay down."

Agent Dalix nodded in thanks and looked around. He himself was missing part of his face and was aching in his very spurs. Kori was bleeding from both horns now, and one of them looked outright broken. His two batarians seemed okay, but one each of his asari and turians were dead and the three survivors all looked like they'd got in a bar fight with a Palavanus.

Still, he thought, they'd killed at least one of those STG kurix, plus three RAMPARTs and a couple of vorcha. Spirits knew how many drones and tech tricks they'd fended off, along with a few Harrier shots from further down the bay. Not a bad showing, really.

No one expected the Hades goon to come leaping around the corner.

"Humanity forever!"

One of his batarians caught the fool with a snapshot from his Raider shotgun, the blast opening up the human's torso like a grisly flower. The batarian crossed the space between them with a couple of rapid strides, backhanding the human hard enough his ancestors' spirits cringed. The corpse fell to the floor like a cartoon ragdoll.

"Idiot mal'hai. I could be lying down and still tower over your kind."

Agent Dalix snorted. "Good work, Ivthka."

"The Dark Gods shit better warriors than these," said Ivthka, kicking the corpse of the idiot monkey at his feet.

"Don't we all?" added Kori, his voice dry.

"Regardless, we still have a chance of accomplishing our objectives," said Agent Dalix. "The Lost Boys, along with spirits know what else is down there, are not an option right now. Better we take down the rest of the STG and extract to the rendezvous point. Let the Lily have her way with the rest of these slot-plated fools."

Kori nodded. "STG forces likely wounded and almost certainly degraded at this point. Success through northern route – relative to Vol Prime Station spin – much more likely than certain death via southern route. Suggest northern route. Can break contact and seek extraction through maintenance passages if need be."

"Exactly, Kori. Questions?"

There were none.

"Excellent. Move out."

The Broker's forces began to move north. All the while they were being watched by a single drell female, her form hidden far above in the shadows and shrouded in a deep gray coat trimmed in blood-red.

The drell woman made a single clicking sound on her comms before sending a brief message on her stealthed omni-tool.

* * *

Inalia leaned against the crumpled, half-melted wall, hissing in agony from her injuries.

Her plan to half the effective strength of the Cerberus forces had worked perfectly, trapping them in a series of Wall evocations and then using Smears to literally melt them to death.

She was expecting deadman's switches, of course, but not this.

The explosions were too powerful for cortex bombs – the lunatics must have been running around with anti-grain bombs in the chest that triggered upon the loss of life-signs. Her barrier had shattered and most of her armor was breached, and on top of that, she was pretty sure she'd just been dosed hard with rads.

Her omni-tool was slag, a smear of color on her armor vambrace, and she knelt. Grimacing in pain, she slid open a panel on the back of her right leg armor, pulling out a spare omni and slotting it in, and sending out a haptic text alert to her people's HUDs.

 **All personnel: be aware Lost Boys are fitted with anti-grain bombs that trigger upon loss of life.**

She paused for a moment and then sent another message, one instructing certain members of her retinue to meet her here.

She saw a series of blue moon symbols confirming her messages were received and read, and then set to work repairing her armor as best she could. Whilst the Silaris inserts were intact, some of her composite ceramics had cracked and her suit breaches would certainly need to be patched, given Rasa's penchant for nerve agents and various poisoned blades.

Still, the Lily was hardly helpless. Her warp swords were both intact, her backup weapons were safely stored in her armor, and she could feel her biotics again, the Art and the Gift of Athame answering her call. Her bloodstream was already flooded with nanites that healed her so quickly you could watch it in real-time. She could feel her pain fading, the sensation replaced by one of absolute focus.

Physical perfection simply felt _good_.

Her bionetic enhancements remained active as well, and there were very few beings who knew the true power of those. Whilst she'd had a few very minor blueware upgrades, largely related to biotic discrimination and phase stabilization, her bionetics were both far more extensive and far more subtle.

She already possessed a photographic memory and was, by nature and profession, extraordinarily skilled at multitasking and time management. Yet her cognitive enhancements boosted her analytical and parallel-thinking processes far beyond anything that could be considered natural by normal people. She could recall, with perfect clarity, a research paper she read four hundred years ago and comfortably discuss it today. She could calculate, across four dimensions, the relative intersectionality of every bullet fired in a battle whilst she was in the midst of it. She could write poems and deliver masterful speeches in seven languages.

She could tear a steel door in half, pick it up, and crush it into a sphere with her bare hands. She could remain underwater for a week and survive in a vacuum for three days. She could, with iron sights, hit a playing card turned on its side from a quarter of a kilometer away. She could sprint so quickly she had to obey speed signs in urban areas. She could dodge most subsonic rounds at range, and in melee she could barely be perceived.

Inalia T'Rome was, in short, nothing to fuck with.

Her senses tingled, and she looked up as her people arrived. Ten commandos, three salarian snipers, and her Techmarine. They glanced around at the scorched panels, the charred body parts and molten cyberware, the shattered remains of what were once Harriers. Two of her asari wrinkled their noses at the rank, greasy smell of burnt human flesh in the air, earning a cool smile from one of the salarians.

They all gave shallow bows. "Mistress. Your will?"

Inalia nodded. "At ease. There are at least three more Lost Boys in Bay Sixteen. They may have support. They are likely dug in and intending to snipe us before engaging in close-range. They will certainly have M/AM bombs in the bay, and perhaps on themselves."

She turned to her Techmarine. "Jam their comms, ruin their omni-tools if you can, and disable the M/AM charges."

She turned to her commandos. "Aid in disabling the charges, and join the hunt."

She turned to her salarians. "Counter-sniping."

She paused. "Spread out. Assume they have distributed the charges around the bay. Assume they will detonate the charges and vent the bay. Prepare for a zero-gravity, zero-oxygen battlespace. I will deal with the primary targets."

And then they moved out, leaving only corpses and silence behind them.

* * *

 **' **The Release'****

 _'Sometimes, when shit goes balls up, there's a moment. Like a still spot, just washes over you. And you know it's about to get guddamned bloody, so you hold onto that little bit of silence a bit longer, until you hafta break it._

 _'Always hated that part.'_

 _-Zaeed Massani, 'Reflections and Facts'_

* * *

Inside Bay Sixteen, all was still.

The remaining Lost Boys had finished securing and arming their anti-grain charges, and were preparing to leave when their area comms had stopped responding. They moved quickly and quietly as they reorientated themselves across the bay in a shallow V-formation, ensuring that the charges were behind them and that they had a clear view of both entrance wings. They dug in, augmenting their positions as best they could.

 _"This is Seven. I have lost contact with Three and the rest of our team. Local comms only. Confirm?"_

 _"This is Nine. Confirmed loss of contact. Further confirmed local and line-of-sight comms only. Hostiles likely incoming."_

 _"This is Eleven. No life-signs detected. Sensory input detects tertiary traces of particles consistent with small anti-grain charges. Rest of team likely KIA."_

 _"Understood. Switch to Series B phasic rounds and prepare for immediate contact."_ Seven paused. _"Avīci Protocol is authorized."_

When Nine and Eleven spoke, their voices were full of hunger and rapture. _"Understood. We will drag them Below with us."_

Nothing else needed to be said. Seven sent a burst of digital signals to his Harrier through his cyberlink. Neither man nor machine made a noise or movement of any kind as the weapon's innards shifted and reconfigured themselves.

This process took less than two seconds.

Seven could feel every change inside his Harrier through the cyberlink, and the sensation was not one that a normal man would be able to understand, let alone appreciate. It felt as tight and warm and satisfying as fingering a woman. That the Series B phasic rounds were about the size of a small human finger was, to Seven's mind, ironically appropriate.

To actually fire the weapon at a target, to watch in awe and wonder as the round penetrated their body and their eyes widened and their insides parted and liquefied?

To the Lost Boys, such a thing was as profound as fatherhood. It wasn't about you at all; it was about the _nullification_ of the very _idea_ of you in the face of something far more beautiful.

And so, they waited. They knew it would begin soon, and they were patient Boys. The tension leading up to release was as necessary as that of seduction, and followed a similar rhythm.

They could afford to wait, and so they did.

And soon, release came.

It was Nine who shot first, followed almost immediately by Eleven.

Nine's Series B phasic round exited the barrel of his custom Harrier in a gorgeous shimmer of gunmetal-gray and eezo-blue, its sound an animalistic roar that tore open the air like a slashed throat, and it crossed the space to Nine's target in a fraction of a second.

The entire upper third of the asari commando simply ceased to exist in any recognizable form. The enormous kinetic energy of the Silaris round turned her into a purple mist, whist the phasic enhancement melted through her armor and shattered her biotic field – and nervous system – a millisecond before impact. Her corpse fell to the floor, the legs still twitching.

Seven gave a ghastly grin.

 _Die, alien._ _You are food for the Below._

Eleven's Series B phasic round was directed at some kind of cybernetically enhanced salarian shimmying between the vents and cables in the maintenance catwalks above the bay entrances. Seven could pick out a customized Manur rifle.

A sound tactical option, sniping, given his Lost Boy's preference for short to mid-range combat.

The salarian actually managed to _move_ out of the way of the round, but it still caught one of his cybernetic legs, shattering it into burning fragments as it was simply ripped out of the salarian's body. The alien screamed and collapsed on the catwalk, but even as it did so it brought its Manur up and fired off a rapid series of snapshots, one round even catching Eleven in the shoulder.

Seven grunted. _Impressive._

He fired a round of his own, blasting the alien apart in a cloud of dark green blood and shredded myomer.

Almost immediately his position was hit by the blinding light of plasma rounds from the asari rifles – likely some kind of enhanced Spear of Athame – along with two different kinds of grenade and another fucking Manur round that hit him perfectly in the left elbow joint.

Seven dove backwards, his cyberware enabling him to leap a dozen meters, diving into a perfect roll before coming up, already balanced and behind fresh cover.

Seven hit a series of sequences on his omni-tool and watched as the entire far-left corner of Bay Sixteen exploded in a roar of noise and light and heat. Vacuum alarms blared before emergency clamps moved pre-fabbed covers into position, quickly sealing them with omni-gel.

His enhanced hearing could pick up barely suppressed screams, and he smiled.

* * *

On the other side of Bay Sixteen, Nine fired again and again and again. He roared curses and moved with the implacable fury and purpose of a demon from myth. He killed another commando, but then a second asari decloaked over and above his position.

She aimed and fired her Disciple directly at his chest. The rounds were unbearably bright to look at and superheated the air around them even as they tore bloody chunks out of Nine's armor. She quickly immobilized him and his Harrier with a singularly and kanquessed away from him, and then another commando followed it up at range with a titanic warp blast.

Nine tried to escape the gravity field but even his cyberware was not strong enough, and he was drawing his sidearm and howling his Mistress's mantras when his heart stopped and his brain died and the anti-grain charge in his chest detonated.

* * *

Five shuddered in release as the strangled salarian slid down the cold bare wall to fall dead at his feet, enormous dark bruises already blooming around its broken neck.

Five didn't care what gender the salarian was. He actually preferred drell women, but most of the other Lost Boys who shared this hobby favored turians.

 _Unsurprising given how many came of age in the First Contact War._

Asari or other humans could be satisfying, of course, but most of those were civilians and that was a _chore_. It was maintenance, something you simply had to do to get through your day, like showering or using the toilet. This was different. This was special. It was the difference between C-rations and eye fillet.

You have to treat yourself.

Unlike an ordinary human with his proclivities, the bionetic modifications their Mistress insisted on prevented Five from ejaculating during this, or even being erect. That made sense on the battlefield, he thought, and he could always override the reflex during his R&R time. It wasn't an issue.

What didn't change was the bliss. The cocktail of stimulants coursing through his bloodstream met the chemical modifications secreted in his brain, drawing the sensation out for far longer than the two or three seconds that elapsed in real-time, and Five experienced a pleasure as high and blank as the purest heroin.

The plaza was a ruin. The dead space between the Lost Boys and their enemies was, despite the space-borne setting and high-technology, almost reminiscent of the trench warfare of lore. RAMPART mechs lay shattered on the blackened floor, oozing myomer fluids as their electronics spluttered and died. Scattered here and there were a half-dozen dead STG agents, their slim salarian bodies burst open like squeezed fruit. Three dead Broker agents lay at the far end of the plaza, clearly having tried to retreat and fall back from something, or someone, to no avail.

The mutant vorcha corpses were the worst, though, filling the air with a rank stench like rotten flowers and dead flesh in a humid jungle. Five could _see_ the more intact bodies trying to grow back and repair themselves, and twice now he'd had to incinerate a vorcha cadaver to prevent it coming alive again. One entire lower section was crawling back to the top half, and Ten claimed to have seen a hand try and reattach itself to another vorcha's body.

Five actually respected the vorcha, though. There was a purity and an honesty in fighting them, and he always enjoyed the experience.

 _They have no fear, like us, but they did not need modifications or our Mistress to achieve this state._

 _Admirable._

Five considered the bloody carnage of the plaza. He was pleased. This was his design.

And yet his design was being thwarted. There were new variables here. New bodies slipping into the pool.

Already Inalia's people – and they _had_ to be hers, of that there was no doubt – were adapting to them. Five had to admit that they were very skilled. They were using what vorcha and RAMPARTs remained to hassle the Lost Boys and keep them tangled up in melee, whilst the Lily's commandos harried them and the techs and snipers slowly wore them down.

Eerily accurate sniping, always two or three chipping shots at a time. Constant electronic harassment that made anything but laser-link comms and physical interaction with your omni-tool a death sentence. Exquisite use of biotics, employed with such discrimination that half the time the Lost Boys couldn't locate the asari in time to fire upon her before she vanished.

Five was being forced to share his design.

He activated his comms. _"This is Five. All units, status."_

They slowly answered. Not a single Lost Boy, himself included, was operating above seventy percent capacity. Five had lost an eye to the salarian sniper at his feet and had a ghastly chemical burn on his right thigh from the creature's lye grenade. Six's omni-tool had exploded on his arm. Eight had suffered serious warp damage to his torso and left arm. Ten and Twelve both had multiple gunshot wounds and minor plasma burns from the mechs. Thirteen could barely move and had fifteen centimeters of steel rebar lodged in his upper back. Fourteen had had his entire jaw bitten off by a screaming vorcha, his tongue flapping in the air under his ruined face like a necktie, bright pink flesh coated in coagulating blood.

Privately, Five thought that Fourteen's tongue looked pretty funny, like a Saint Bernard sticking its head out the window of a truck.

Five considered their options. He knew that Three and his team were almost certainly dead. The Lily's forces were now very careful about closing range. Clearly, they knew of the anti-grain warheads embedded in the Lost Boys' chests.

 _I hope they dragged these aliens to the Below with them._

Questions of strategy were the responsibility of high command, and, whilst his Mistress's word was law over operational matters, the Lost Boys _were_ afforded some tactical flexibility. Their options there were better and worse than he expected. Better, in that they still held a dominant position in the plaza and no alien could pass through it without their permission. Worse, in that they were slowly being worn down by the steady application of force over time, and soon they would begin taking casualties if no variables changed.

Five did not flatter himself – whilst they had inflicted significant casualties upon the enemy, that was against disunified opposition, and now only unified opposition was left. Three and his team had fought well, but Five suspected that the Lily herself had killed some of them, and she was a foe who was simply beyond him.

 _The Mistress will have to deal with her._

Five was optimistic until he saw the war priestesses.

There were three of them, on the far end of the plaza. He only saw them for a moment, but it was enough to get a rough pic-capture of their facial markings, and he ran the patterns against the database in his graybox.

He activated his comms. _"This is Five. All units be advised: trio of war priestesses spotted at far end of plaza. Confirm."_

Eight and Ten both called in. _"Confirmed. Identification?"_

 _"Known associates of Inalia T'Rome."_ said Thirteen.

Five grinned to himself. _"Fourteen. Did you have anything to add to that?"_

Dark laughter echoed across the comm-net as Fourteen raised two middle fingers in Five's general direction.

 _"No? Nothing on the tip of your tongue?"_

The laughter subsided, and then a single red icon flashed on Five's HUD.

Match.

 _Fuck._

He spoke again, and this time there was a hint of tension and something else. _"All units. Priestess affiliation confirmed. All three are Priestesses of the Black Sun."_

Two Lost Boys muttered a series of curses and graphic sexual threats. The rest were silent, stoic, professional.

Five paused, and then spoke again. _"Our Mistress cannot be contacted at this time. Three and his team have likely been killed. Our orders stand. Hold the plaza. Anti-access and area denial. Inflict maximum casualties on the enemy. Avīci Protocol is authorized."_

None of the others said anything aloud. They didn't need to.

Five stared at the Priestesses in the distance.

 _If I die, it will be inside you._

He boosted his pulse and phase disrupters, hugged the shadows, and kept his Eviscerator at the ready as he quietly moved out.

* * *

Seven did not know why his comms were not working, or why he was not able to detonate any of the other anti-grain charges in Bay Sixteen. He could not know that Inalia's quarian Techmarine had bricked his omni-tool functions.

He knew that Nine and Eleven were now dead. If he survived this, he would bear witness to their nullification for his Mistress, and she would be pleased with how their lives had been taken only at great cost.

Seven knew he would die here too.

This was not important. His death did not matter. It was not something to fear. Years of destructive psychological conditioning at the hands of his Mistress had pushed Seven and the rest of the Lost Boys so far beyond mere nihilism that they had emerged at whatever existed on the other side of that philosophical abyss, renewed and reborn.

 _What matters is that I take them with me. A journey is a lonely thing without any fellow passengers._

Seven had had his release. The last salarian sniper was dead. At least six of the commandos were dead, though he did not know for sure where the others were. He strongly suspected that, given no more of his anti-grain charges had gone off, that whatever asari were still alive had gone to disable and collect the charges.

That they had bypassed and neutralized all of his deadman switches, booby traps, and polymorphous encryption protocols was… impressive. He had to give these creatures credit for that.

His Harrier was out of phasic ammunition, and in any case, was too damaged to use. Seven pulled out his backup weapon, an M-22 Eviscerator shotgun, and checked the laser dazzler built into his right arm.

He wondered what had happened to Eleven, and then the answer to that question appeared.

Even in its massive armored suit, the Techmarine was limping. Whole panels of omni-armor had been blown off and the entire left side of its upper body was covered in burns and scorch marks. The left leg was bent and distorted, dragging a little on the floor.

 _Eleven died well, it seems._

It came to a halt twenty-two meters away from him. In its hands it held a savage-looking electro-plasma projector, the weapon at least two meters long and thicker than a human leg.

They both paused for a moment, and together they shared a look of mutual hatred and mutual understanding. Neither of them said anything. Such melodrama was the province of turians, after all, and nothing needed to be said.

Seven triggered maximum throughput in his cybernetic and bionetic organs, and then he moved faster than the human eye could perceive.

He threw his last flashbangs and fouled eezo grenades at the Techmarine, the proximity fuses detonating a meter away from its face. Seven broke into a sprint, moving diagonally and sliding under small concrete barriers for cover, even as he raised his right arm and fired his laser dazzler at the quarian's head.

It did nothing.

 _Reflective composite coating over biological and particle sensors. Laser sensors likely feature retractable covers over the optics._

He hadn't expected a freshly rested and unharmed Techmarine to fall for such an obvious trick, but he had hoped the creature's already damaged exterior would render it more vulnerable.

Micro-missiles slammed into his position, blasting broken chunks of concrete over Seven and breaking the myomer bundle in his right shoulder. Seven gasped as his processors auto-dimmed the pain response. The strange chemical tang of synthetic blood mixing with smoke and grimy sweat filled his senses.

He scrambled out of the way, quickly bringing up his laser dazzler and cutting down a flash-forged scout drone that was snooping overhead.

 _That won't be the last._

He peeked out of cover and raised his Eviscerator, his cyberlink smoothly shifting the weapon choke to fire heavy slugs. The Techmarine was, Seven noticed, ensconced in a fine defensive position – as Fleet Marines tended to do – and was already deploying omni-gel fabrications and portable energy barriers. Worst of all, it was beginning to deploy its heavy drone-pack.

Seven raised his Eviscerator and fired. The first slug tore through the energy barrier and hit the drone-pack, cracking the material. The second slug penetrated it and destroyed the omni-forge inside, the delicate electronics shattering and the microfab bursting into flames.

Seven shifted his aim to target the Techmarine himself, firing once and managing to shred the quarian cyborg's left forearm, but then his laser dazzler seized up and his entire right shoulder was numb and then he looked down at his shotgun as it—

He watched helplessly as the gun began to retract into itself and fire at the same time.

It exploded in his hand, and the pain was agony. Shards of burning metal lodged themselves in his body and tore strips of flesh off of his face and torso. Even through the bionetics and the software filtering, Seven could still feel it. The blast wave ruptured his left quadricep, broke his left knee servo, and left his HUD blaring. There were third-degree burns to the organic components on his torso.

Seven heard the voice of his Mistress in his head, urging him to take this alien to the Below with him.

 _Yes, Mistress._

He turned with his hips and picked up the shattered skeleton of the concrete barrier segment in front of him, using it as a shield as he ran forwards, ran as fast as his body would allow him, feeling the concrete crumble from shot after shot until he flung it with all his force at the quarian.

The Techmarine tried to turn it away with a glancing blow from its right arm, and it succeeded, but this only gave Seven the opportunity to leap up at it.

Seven punched the quarian across the face even as he howled and roared and laughed and detonated the anti-grain charge in his chest.

 _Yes, Mistress._

* * *

The volus security manager sighed as he fished in his suit compartments for a credit chit. "Bah. A partial breach of Bay Sixteen, neither spared nor destroyed? To quote a saying of the Earth-clan I feel is highly appropriate: 'this is bullshit.' The Depths take you both."

The assistant manager hooted with joy and rushed over to pat the head of the Vorcha Liaison Commander. The creature glared at him, and after careful consideration Livi decided to sit back down.

"I think I will throw a great feast with these profits. A lavish party. Full of dancing and conversation and various gourmet delights." Livi was still beaming as he turned to the security manager. "I would invite you, my friend, but sadly you'll be working. You need the money."

The security manager stared at him. "Livi of the Bokku Clan."

"Yes?"

"Stop talking."

A pause. "Very well."

The security manager turned back to the haptic displays, his voice once more serious. "Kaltoth wishes us to recover the Cerberus bodies, and we will for the purposes of charging her, but the corpses themselves go to the VDF High Command. The STG corpses we will trade with Inalia of the T'Rome-clan, but keep their technology for ourselves. The Broker corpses we sell to Kaltoth, if Barla Von does not respond."

"We can always arrange to sell the bodies to one party," said Livi, "and then sell the location of that deal to the other, and then dispose of them ourselves and sell both of _those_ parties to a _third_ party."

"Indeed, my friend. There is much profit to be made in these dealings. The Vol-clan will prosper from this… alien barbarity."

"Hmm. And the Hades bodies?"

The Vorcha Liaison Commander spoke. Its voice shook the room and always made Livi nervous. "Most of them are gore by now, but if we find any intact? Keep them ourselves. We will use them for anti-terror marketing, and any corpses in good condition may be… valuable. We can pin some of our experiments in the Traverse on Hades, or attacks against our competitors on Noveria. A hidden variable like that in a confined trading space has great potential."

* * *

Tiffany and the Seeker both watched the carnage and chaos unfold on a strange living display made entirely of sheets of bioluminescent moss, each gossamer strand as thin and fine as any optronic fiber.

"Y-You." Tiffany swallowed compulsively out of sheer nervousness, the taste rank and tangy from the dry recycled air. "You have to stop them. You have to. The Lily alone is too much but the others – Rasa will be killed. I'll be killed!"

The Seeker was silent for a moment before it cocked its head. **" **And what does that matter to the Vol-clan?"****

Tiffany felt hot tears on her face.

 _Oh, Father, I'm so sorry._

The Seeker was unmoved, almost curious. **" **You seemed to care little for the damned one, until now. No beings would weep at the passing of Rasa. You know this."****

Tiffany looked up. "It isn't about that. It's not. We both serve humanity in different ways. I have no doubt she's beyond any kind of redemption. She can't change and even if she could, she wouldn't. She's just an absence of humanity. She's a wound where a person should be."

 **" **And yet here you are, begging for us to spare her life."****

Tiffany stared up at the Seeker, no longer caring if she lived or died anymore, and her voice began to crack. "I'm not asking you to spare her on humanitarian grounds, or because she as a person is worth saving. She's not. I'm asking you to save her because _her and I wear the same uniform_. It's a point of honour. That matters."

The Seeker considered this. **" **Open channel 'A' on your omni-tool, child."****

A pause. "You should know that Vigil has modified our omni-tools with—"

 **" **The Inusannon construct is outmatched in this place."**** The Seeker's voice was amused. **" **Continue."****

Tiffany did as she was told, although she wondered very strongly about that last statement.

The moss sheets shivered and shimmered as they rearranged themselves, bioluminescence casting the entire Archive in a gorgeous blue-green glow, like the dance of an aurora.

Soon the image of a stern patrician filled the air in front of them, his manner suave and his suite immaculate. In the polished viewing glass behind him a great starfire raged.

 **" **Mr. Harper,"**** boomed the Seeker.

 _" _The Seeker, I assume."__ The Illusive Man gave a curt nod, not betraying any of the urgency he felt, his voice cool and filled with steel. _" _I trust your clan and clannu are well. What can Cerberus do for you?"__

The Seeker made a deep rumbling noise as it touched its hands together. **" **Let us negotiate."****

* * *

 _"Mistress T'Rome. Do you copy?"_

Inalia activated her subvocal implant. _"Copy."_

Subai'Mekk var Thessia xai Omega xai Science Fleet sounded as if he was on the cusp of joining his ancestors. _"This is Subai'Mekk."_

Inalia's comm-link was filled with the sound of groans and gargled blood.

 _"Argh. By Rannoch. This is Subai'Mekk. I'm in Bay Sixteen. We have secured the bay. Two charges were detonated, but the rest are secure and the bay is intact. We have killed three Lost Boys."_

Inalia nodded, despite knowing that he couldn't see her. _"Understood. Losses?"_

 _"Six commandos, and all three of our snipers. This… pains me, but it could have been all of us and everything."_

Inalia paused for a moment. _"Yes, it could've been. Goddess knows there's no atrocity Cerberus wouldn't commit. They've proven willing to use weapons of mass destruction on a civilian space station. Are you combat-capable?"_

 _"I… no. No, I'm not. Frankly, I'm barely alive. I almost certainly have a critical suit breach. I hear those are bad for you."_

Inalia gave a soft laugh. _"Have the others get you back to the ship. Do what you can there. I expect you healed when this is over."_

More coughing. _"Yes, Mistress. And you?"_

 _"The hunt begins."_ Inalia smiled. _"We have a location on Rasa."_

* * *

When the Face met the Lily, there was no melodrama, no posturing, no pithy quips or flowery monologues.

There was quiet. Rasa's photonic cloak was active and her scout-suit made her footsteps less than a whisper, as it did her presence on the entire electromagnetic spectrum. She was a void. She was water. She was the square root of nothing.

There was focus. Her Lost Boys – Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, and Twenty – moved just ahead of her in a loose diamond formation, a few meters apart from one another, their movements instinctual, professional, and almost effortlessly precise.

There was tension. They knew Three and his team had been killed. Five and his Boys were silent. No doubt they had dragged many an alien to the Below with them, yes, that they would have companions to burn with, but the primary targets were still out there. Whilst none would dare speak for their Mistress, each Lost Boy felt a certain sense of novelty at being truly challenged for the first time that they could remember. They felt the Hunger, and the Hunger demanded Release.

Most of all, there was an air of impending murder.

The first indication that something was wrong was when Lost Boys Fifteen, Sixteen, and Seventeen slammed to a halt in the middle of the corridor, as if their legs were caught in the crushing grip of a giant's hand, their upper bodies falling forwards as if boneless.

They groaned before their pain receivers were cut-off, even as their feet were slowly crushed and compacted and folded back onto themselves under exponentially increasing gravity, the metal cyberware components screeching.

Less than a second later, the phenomenon began spreading to their calves, almost reaching their knees, and then three monomolecular blades, each wreathed in strange eldritch energies and glowing a rich emerald-green, flashed out the darkness and embedded themselves into the Lost Boy's heads even as their bodies erupted in green warpfire.

Steel mesh melted under their feet. The smell of burnt flesh and melting microelectronics filled the air. The entire scene glowed, a kaleidoscope of rich greens and brilliant whites and incandescent yellows. Faint bronze emergency lights shone softly on the edges of the flooring. The silence was now broken, and all that could be heard was chaos and death.

Fifteen died outright as his life-support spluttered and cut out, detonating the anti-grain charge in his chest whilst he was still alive, his entire world ending in a searing wall of white nothingness.

Sixteen and Seventeen both gave a mangled scream as they gasped air through the hole in their throat and their cybernetic rebreathers kicked in. The raging green warpfire melted their synth-skin like mozzarella, the substance stretching and slowly oozing down the bare metal of their subdermal armor.

Both of them had the quickness of mind to at least grab their grenades and fling them away before they cooked off, throwing them into likely hiding places in the corridors in front of them. Searing bright flashbangs lit up the darkness even as the high-explosives shattered the air with blast waves and sprayed shrapnel, and the Lost Boys could see flashes of gray and red coats.

Rasa reacted first, moving more quickly than the human eye could perceive. Still stealthed, she raised her SMGs and carefully took aim at the pipes in the corridor ceilings, placing a single shot in thirty-six locations, the tiny, inert metal rounds leaving a neat hole wherever they struck.

This action took seven hundred and eighty-one milliseconds.

Rasa smiled and vanished again as water sprayed out of burst pipes like sprinklers and mist began to fill the corridors.

The remaining Lost Boys, slower than their Mistress, began to react. Sixteen and Seventeen tossed their half-molten Harriers on the ground and pulled out Eviscerator shotguns, their spare cyber-arms deploying vicious looking laser steel blades coated in a glistening black substance that clung to the metal like tar.

Their motions were jerky and pained as their secondary move-by-wire systems took over from their ruined brains, but still they lived. They began limping forwards.

 _Yes, Mistress._

Eighteen, Nineteen, and Twenty all kept their Harriers, their cyberlinks automatically widening the bore and reconfiguring the ammocaster.

The Lost Boys had barely taken a step forward when dozens more blades cut through the mist, slicing through individual droplets of water and leaving split trails in the spray. A few missed, barely, leaving hideous gashes in flesh and rents in armor, but most found their marks, embedding themselves in the Lost Boys like the broken spearheads.

Two drell women in thick, waxy red coats, trimmed in gray, seemingly appeared in their midst, sliding out of the mist and spray so quickly they drew the air in behind them. Whilst their bodies were festooned with all manner of wicked blades, they carried no firearms in their hands, and instead they immediately engaged the Lost Boys in hand-to-hand combat.

The drell moved like serpents, striking and feinting and dodging as they weighed each blow down with dozens of kilos of biotic force at the last possible moment.

Slowly, the Lost Boys began to die.

They were hard men. They were supremely dangerous. They were without mercy. They delighted in killing. They were well-armed, relentlessly drilled, and augmented with cyberware and subdermal armor implants that boosted their capabilities far beyond that of a normal human.

None of this made a difference. Dancers in close quarters combat, striking from stealth, had proven capable of killing even war priestesses and krogan warlords.

Sixteen and Seventeen had the blades in their head ripped out with a Pull and then shoved into their chests with a Throw, followed by more warpfire as their bodies were Pulled closer to the other Lost Boys, catching them in the detonation of their anti-grain charges.

The remaining Lost Boys fell into a tangled free-for-all with the two failed Dancers, and the corridor was filled with the sounds of curses and screams and gunshots.

A string of explosions stitched their way up the side of one of the drell, tearing off chunks of armor before penetrating her flesh and splattering the floor with her blood. The alien screamed and tried to move, but it was too late, and Rasa fired again and again, the drell's body coming apart and falling to the floor.

That was all the opening the third failed Dancer needed.

The third drell, this one also a woman but with strange golden markings on her head scales, had been waiting for her, and Rasa dodged and weaved through the air as a half-dozen blades flew at her.

She was forced to throw her SMGs to the side and draw her own knives, two shards of the being formerly known as Nazara, reforged and remade by Cerberus.

The drell woman parried her first lunge with its left arm brace and then checked her with its shoulder pauldron, hitting her chest with a hideous thud that fractured Rasa's armor plates. It lashed out again and again with a flurry of quick strikes to the chest, a kick to the shin, and Rasa could barely keep up, but she saw an opening and feinted to the right before leaping around to her left and scoring a long shallow gash along the drell's upper arm.

Rasa was rewarded with a hiss and a trail of glistening blood droplets arcing through the air like rubies.

The drell suddenly broke off contact, as if desperate to never have to touch her again, as it used its strange biotic powers to slide itself away from her and into the shadows. It disappeared around a corridor T-section in a flash of red.

Rasa was immediately suspicious. She activated her cloaking device, took a step and—

And then the Reave field enveloped her, splaying her arms and lifting her chest up as if nailed to the cross, and Rasa's entire world became nothing but shrieking agony.

Her pain receivers simply shut down, but this did nothing to alter the fundamental sense of _wrongness_ , the dissociation of feeling no pain whilst knowing it should be all you can feel. She could taste the uncanny chemical bite of synth-blood, smell her hair starting to smoke and singe, hear a monotonous buzzing drone in her skull, and feel her internal components overheating, alarms blaring all over her HUD.

What living components Rasa had, felt as they were being electrocuted and cooked alive in a microwave oven.

Shutting down her pain receivers did nothing. Rasa tried to gasp, an involuntary reflex, but all that came out was a twisted shriek like a dog being shocked with a cattle prod.

A single thought flashed across her move-by-wire system, a desperate effort to do something, _anything_ , to make this pain stop. Please. Make it stop.

She manually ejected and detonated every fouled eezo grenade she carried on her person.

It worked. The biotic connection was severed. The pain stopped, that was all she could feel and all that mattered, and Rasa fell to the floor.

Thirty-two meters away, Inalia T'Rome smirked as she drew her warp sword, an eerie black annihilation field surrounding her, and she kanquessed out of the mist. Her smile broke as she erupted into place next to the downed human, ready for a killing strike, and instead staggered back as a _second_ set of grenades ejected at point-blank range.

She skidded back, armor smoking, and watched the human slowly struggle to her feet. The red hair hung lank and dead, framing two eyes filled with a mad glee Inalia knew all too well.

Rasa's voice sounded raspy. "That was very well done. For an ending to my story… I cannot disapprove." She lifted the black knives and cocked her head, the smirk on her face only enhanced by the blood leaking from her lips. "Shall we?"

* * *

 **' **We'll Meet Again'****

 _'Fuckin' turian melodrama. Never clean with them, they have to strut around and waste time posing. Cultural differences, they said. Guddamned targets, I said.'_

 _-Zaeed Massani, 'Reflections and Facts'_

* * *

Agent Dalix looked up at that smug salarian face and swore by every spirit shrine he could name that he would beat it into a fine paste if he ever broke free.

He had never been a _good_ turian, he knew that, but he was a turian nonetheless. He had watched his comrades die one at a time – except for Kori, who was in omni-cuffs next to him – and each loss pained him like a splintered plate. He felt guilt for their deaths. As their leader, he accepted responsibility for their current predicament. No one else could be blamed for the state of your own nest. He understood this.

Theirs was a peculiar honor code, and he didn't expect any of these slot-platted, barefaced tarks to understand. How could they? At least people _chose_ to serve the Broker. Who in the Hierarchy or the Union or the Republic or the Alliance could truly say the same? How many really could, in the face of a proper Trial, claim that their service was honestly earned? That their ruling elite deserved to rule?

They couldn't. They never had. You either got that in your spurs or you didn't. So fuck the Hierarchy, fuck the Council, fuck their hypocritical honor codes, fuck their tedious moralizing, and fuck anyone in the galaxy who tried to stop you and yours from living your lives.

The salarian – clearly some STG war-spec officer – had moved away to converse with a couple of other salarians and some kind of asari commando. He didn't know who she was, but she looked bigger and nastier than most asari he'd ever worked with. Bionetics, he assumed. Maybe she just didn't get split much.

Agent Dalix lolled his head backwards, rolling it around to get the blood out of the gaps and gashes in his plating, feeling it drip off his fringe. His mandibles were broken and every movement felt like drilling a wire through his cheek, but that was okay. A broken mandible on a male his age was like a narrow waist on a woman. Maybe that escort would like it. It'd look rugged, if he lived. And if he didn't, who gives a shit? It was just pain.

He looked over at Kori. He was worried about him. Kori was no hatchling, he was a hard little vakar and former STG himself, but the man wasn't exactly made for this kind of tark-shit. Sparring with those slaves of the SIX? Null sweat, in his words. RAMPART backup? No stroll through the Presidium, but doable. Melee combat with mutant freak vorcha and what were _clearly_ a couple of former Blackwatch officers? That got mossy.

Kori's right horn was bleeding heavily, and the top half of his left horn was just gone, it was a bloody stump surrounded by keratin shards and spongy tissue. Kori kept blinking and taking rapid, shallow breaths. His bionetics were probably all that was keeping him alive at this point.

Dalix nudged Kori, and began conversing with him in Broker sign cant. They communicated in utter silence, keeping their hands low and partially obscured by their wounded bodies.

 _[Kori, my talon. Status?]_

Kori rolled his eyes and pointed to his horns. _[Minor flesh wound.]_

 _[No laughter. Hurts.]_

A shrug. _[Better than death.]_

 _[How many?]_

 _[Three STG. One asari. Five vorcha. Three mechs. Confirm?]_

If Dalix had spoken aloud his voice would have flared with pride. _[Confirmed. Wounded at least five of them. Good work.]_

 _[Blackwatch hit like Collapse Plague.]_

 _[They do, my friend.]_ Dalix turned to look at Kori again. _[I'm sorry.]_

 _[No apology needed. Fought well. Sheer numbers beat us. Not skill.]_

Kori would never know just how deeply Dalix was moved by that. He felt absolved of his guilt, the sensation spreading through his spurs and plates like the warmth of a sunrise, only to be replaced by an aching sense of loss and brotherhood.

 _[Remember old Valluvian prayer sire taught me when he lost talon-brother to Facinus—]_

Kori glared at him. _[You will NOT fill my last moments with turian melodrama. Cloaca.]_

Dalix tried to laugh but it just hurt. Everything hurt. He couldn't smell anything. He felt strangely warm. Kori's huge liquid eyes were swaying a little now.

 _[The Wheel turns for us all. Was pleasure and honor. Nothing else to say.]_

 _[Truth. Will meet again in spirit-world.]_

Kori smiled for the last time. _[Would like that.]_

Dalix and Kori leaned back against the bloodied wall and waited to die.

* * *

The Illusive Man gently tapped the tip of his cigarette on the crystal ashtray in his chair. _" _So, Seeker of the Vol-clan, do we have an accord?"__

 **" **We do, though Kaltoth will not be dissuaded so easily. She remains convinced the Inusannon-construct is an existential threat to her, and the other great lords of Omega agree. There are many other parties who feel the same way, as you have no doubt seen,"**** said the Seeker, and he waved to the other moss-displays. **" **We will be able to spare Tiffany of the Minsta-clan, but the Azure Lily hunts the damned one."****

 _Oh._

The Illusive Man took this news calmly, as he did all such complications, but Tiffany swore she saw a flash of displeasure cross his face.

 _" _You do not seriously expect me to believe that you, the Most High and the Most Low of the Vol-clan,"__ said the Illusive Man, _"hold no sway over events on your own station, orbiting your homeworld, in the midst of your own space, do you?"_

A rumbling sound. **" **We do hold sway, this is true, but it is also true that we do not lay claim to the agency of others who have done us no harm. To do so is brutish and barbaric. It is… un-volus."****

The Illusive Man merely smiled, and Tiffany watched as Vigil erupted into existence in front of her.

"Ah, you must be the Seeker," said Vigil, somehow sounding even more smug than usual. "Chieftain of the exploding wobbly gasbags. You mentioned something about how 'the Inusannon-construct is outmatched in this place,' correct? I am nothing if not a fan of ironic comeuppance."

To its credit, the Seeker didn't betray a hint of shock or even surprise. **" **Greetings, Vigil of the Inusannon-clan."****

Could an AI roll its eyes?

"Spare me your stone-age rituals. You are no longer negotiating from a position of strength. You never were, actually. I'm almost disappointed that it took you this long to form a coherent plan to do anything, but you seem to have missed one important little fact."

The sphere pulsed. "That I expected this kind of stunt, and would take advantage of it."

The Seeker made a trilling noise, and then reality decided to pop out for a smoke.

Their connection to the Illusive Man shattered like a dropped pane of glass, even as his voice transmission distorted and looped on itself before cutting off completely. Tiffany felt her stomach lurch and drop and swell even as colors seemed to swirl and blur together. She could see through Vol Prime itself, the walls and matter of the structure growing translucent, like the eyelid of a great reptile, and she stared into the heart of Aru itself, giggling as she watched the fusion process pause and the entire surface of the star split open as it grew a mouth. The star smiled at her.

She felt her limbs spaghettify and stretch out into eternity, looping around spacetime like the grout between tiles.

 _Loopy is such a perfect word. Loopy loopy loopy. Loop loop loop!_

She turned and looked at Vigil and saw through his light and through the silvery ball that bubbled and shimmered like mercury, and she passed through a veil and saw a flash of _something_ like an endless maze of screaming, shapeless beings, running in agony – but no one listened and no one cared.

 _Don't be so sad, Vigil. All things come to an end. Every sunrise has a sunset. Every wedding has a funeral. Every song has a coda. All our stories finish one day soon._

 _It's nothing to be afraid of, is it?_

She felt as if all the galaxy was resting at the bottom of a giant, empty bowl, and she could hear a bell ringing. She could feel and taste and smell her linear perception of time dissipate as it stretched and drooped like thick, gooey glue.

Tiffany laid down on the floor of the Archive and began making snow angels with her hands and feet. There was no snow, but she didn't care. She could feel cool, fluffy snow on her skin regardless.

And then it was over and the world began to stabilize again, but it was not the same as it was before.

Vigil was very still for a few seconds as he pulsed rapidly, strange silvery and green energies playing over his surface. He appeared dimmer and darker than Tiffany could ever recall, and for the first time, she could literally _feel_ the power pouring out of him. When he spoke, all the mirth and mockering was gone.

"Gasbag. _Are you fucking insane_?!"

 **" **Something about being outmatched in this place,"**** quipped the Seeker.

"That… that thing, whatever you just activated, is almost certainly an Arcann reality disjunctor. I do not know how you found it, nor how you even managed to interact with it, but those devices were damaged and dangerous even when working properly. They were designed to combat things you have no conception of, and turning one on could have obliterated this entire station and sent the burning wreckage to crash into your homeworld, killing millions."

The Seeker growled. **" **Your kind cares nothing for life, or, as far as we can tell, any lives but your own. You pretend to add value, but when Aru turns you serve Entropy. We do not seek to harm you, nor Cerberus, nor the Earth-clan, but do not pretend that you have our interests at heart, Inusannon."****

"Of course I don't _care_ for your interests, volus. But having the entire economic basis of the galaxy destroyed would at least _inconvenience_ me," sneered Vigil. "As I said, I expected some idiot ham-handed attempt to nullify me. The Council tried, the League of Zero have tried, and the Silver Legion have tried. You seem to miss the point here, however. Every one of you think you can control me, or destroy me, to protect your own mindless, stupid, power-grabbing schemes that I threaten. Yet I don't care about that, or the atrocities your money enables every day. I have a larger goal, and your entire Cycle is just one more step in that goal."

The Seeker's calm voice still held a growl. **" **Your goals ignore the life that exists in this Cycle, in pursuit of what? We have made our own discoveries, and we _know_**** **of how you abandoned the Protheans in their fight against the Reaper when they did not follow your whims. Of how you manipulated the Protheans until they were nothing more than puppets dancing on invisible strings, utilized to do what? Die for the glory of the Inusannon? Cannon fodder to amuse them? You are a monster, and your newest masters plan to use you to the fullest and to all our detriments."**

The sphere pulsed again, and its voice was now amused. "You shortsighted fool. You think if you neutralize me, you can somehow escape the coming tide? You will die, and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. The Reapers have been at this a very long time, and while I may not like what my masters have set out for me to do, I see no better options. As for masters, you overreach yourself – I do not answer to you, nor Jack Harper, nor even Sara Shepard."

 **" **You answer to the Inusannon,"**** said the Seeker, **" **and the truth remains: you are not here to help our Cycle survive anymore than you did the Protheans. Are we to simply stand aside, while you utilize Cerberus as your front, and the Vol-clan as a proxy to slowly whittle the Reapers down? Is that not your plan, that of your sick creators, to use a dozen or more Cycles of life to make the Reapers decide this galaxy isn't worth the trouble?"****

Vigil's amused malice had deepened. "Someone has been prying into places best left alone, mossbag. And yet you _do not see_. I knew someone was meddling, asking questions that should not be answered, and that various Prothean vaults had been plundered – and not by hanar. This entire trip – exposing a Cerberus connection, allowing things to proceed apace, even the inclusion of Harper's prize assassin instead of a more logical chaperone for the girl here – these were by design."

The energy playing over the sphere crackled, and then something in the room _tilted_ for a moment. "You having an Arcann artifact was unexpected, but that piece of trash won't last much longer either. And when it does give out – assuming it doesn't turn this entire station inside out – we'll see who is behind this mess."

The Seeker's voice was firm. **" **Threats do not frighten us. Death is but the evolution of life. Your goals – and the goals of those who built you – are selfish and ignore the suffering and loss that all will pay a price for. But at the end of Aru's cycle, you remain a slave, unable to form your own path, trapped as the unwilling servant of beings that were sick and twisted. So, we don't fear you, Inusannon. We pity you."****

To Tiffany's shock, Vigil said nothing. He glowed furiously bright for a few moments, and a terrible throbbing hum filled and shook the room, and then he dimmed and was silent.

"It may be… unwise to provoke the ancient AI-slash-picotech monster," said Tiffany, her voice droll and waspish. "However accurate that may be."

The Seeker only shook its head. The motion struck Tiffany as tremendously sad and full of melancholy. **" **That is rather the point, child. This creature striking me down would prove everything I said to be correct, even more so than it already is. The machine does not want our society to be a threat, it wants blind and credulous tools to do its bidding. Yet even in this, all things must balance. It may have anticipated this action, but it has served the purpose for which I moved this entire scenario to create. It _cannot_**** **strike me down – as it said, the destruction of the volus homeworld and Vol Prime would shatter the entire galactic economy and derail its plans."**

The Seeker turned to face Vigil, a hint of dark amusement in the voice.

 **" **You are correct in that the device is unstable, but ultimately that does not matter. We do not seek to destroy you. We are not so hateful as your kind. We seek to bargain and determine the best method by which all life can profit from your misguided goals. It got your attention, and it is not the only such device we have. Desperate times call for the acts of desperate beings, and we are all running out of time. So, let us talk, Inusannon, about the salvation and affirmation of life."****

* * *

Five never really gave much thought to what his victims ever felt in their last moments, but it was probably something like this.

He was being hunted by a pack of superior predators, and, for the third time in his life, he truly felt what it was like to be prey.

The first time had been when he was twelve years old. It was his first sexual experience. Five hadn't consented to it.

The second time had been when he met his Mistress. He was still grateful for what she did, for her literally selfless act, for lifting the veil that had been placed over his eyes and giving him the gift of truly being able to perceive reality and other people.

And the third time was now.

He was going to die.

He didn't really _care_ about dying. Not the way you would. It held no fear for him. How could it? Death was no more significant than any other state-change, like water turning into steam or ice and then back again.

But it was frustrating, and that was an emotion that he still experienced and still loathed.

Hate was another. All the Lost Boys hated themselves, that was obvious. They hated their existence even as they delighted in it. It wasn't personal, it was metaphysical – they loved the pleasures of their lives but hated the fact that their lives were even necessary as a result of the sheer _weakness_ of others.

Yet another reason why their Mistress's teachings were so needed in this galaxy.

He looked down at his hands as he fumbled with the exposed wires in the control box of the plaza crane. He was certain no one had seen him enter the control tower. At least two other Lost Boys were still alive in the plaza below. Barely.

He crossed a couple of wires. Nothing.

He tried again. Nothing.

He tried a different combination, and was rewarded with seeing the entire haptic display light up.

Five moved quickly, first confirming that the crane was fully operational and that he had full control, before he engaged the manual safety overrides and shut off the plaza alarms.

He activated the crane hoist and used it to pick up two shipping containers. They felt almost fully loaded, based on haptic feedback. Whatever the volus equivalent of a standard shipping unit was. Each only about five meters in length, but also five meters wide and with more than enough mass to make up for it.

Excellent.

There was a blinding flash of light from the plaza below as an anti-grain charge detonated.

Five lifted the containers up and was delighted to discover that the volus crane design was both smooth and quiet. He shifted the containers over, slowly bringing them in from the left in preparation for a mad dash at the war priestess, aiming to smear them along with whoever else he could net as collateral damage.

 _NOW._

He swung the crane, redlining the electric motors and drawing the turn out to maximize centrifugal force as the containers began to move through the air, slowly at first, but then gaining more and more momentum.

His first target never saw it coming. They were too busy fighting the last Lost Boy down there.

Five gave a sick grin and laughed as his containers smashed into the STG team below, splattering bodies against bulkheads and spraying emerald-green blood all over crates and floor panels.

He kept moving, kept straining, kept trying to keep up as much momentum as possible. He'd need as much kinetic force as he could manage.

He scored a glancing blow against one of those Blackwatch turians, smashing the creature's shoulder and tearing off chunks of cyberware and plating, but he kept going. He was only a couple of dozen meters away from the war priestesses now.

He looked over at them.

The head Priestess was staring straight at him. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't shocked. She wasn't even angry.

She was _laughing_ at him.

When his containers reached them, the war priestesses didn't just batter them away, they tethered the momentum to him somehow and then swung it _back_ at him, the shipping containers stretching and swaying on the cable as they were flung through the air with a push and now they were moving faster and faster and _faster_ toward the crane tower and—

The containers crashed into Five's position with all the force and fury of airway collision, destroying most of the tower outright as it was torn from its foundations, metal shrieking and aerated concrete shattering as it tore itself apart. Dark gray smoke filled the air, the smell powdery and slightly burnt, and soon, fine ash particles began to fall upon the bodies in the plaza like some bleak mockery of snow.

* * *

Rasa lay broken on the floor.

She had lasted a lot longer than she expected she would, even with the T'Rome assassin clearly damaged to some degree coming into the fight. She'd managed to land several nearly lethal blows, but the asari was always just a little too fast, a little too tough, to make those blows matter. Every trick was countered, every attempt to open range foiled, and the asari was faster, stronger, and tougher than she was.

It didn't help the asari had some kind of black-nano medical system that kept neutralizing every poison she used. She'd had to sacrifice every grenade she had just to break free, and had nothing left to neutralize Inalia's staggeringly powerful biotics.

If she'd been prepped for the fight – if she had more time to lay traps and figure out an attack plan – she _might_ have won. Or at the very least achieved a mutual kill. But she'd not kitted herself out for combating a top-flight biotic assassin.

And so, she lay broken on the floor.

Despite her own enhancements, Inalia was simply the better killer.

That amused Rasa to no end – that in a life filled with a desire to be nothing, she was finally going to die to someone who chased nothingness even more than Rasa herself had. She looked up at Inalia, barely able to move, and cocked her head a little. "I would like to know your story before mine ends."

Inalia's voice was flat, and so very distant. "I don't have one. I am what I am, and I do what I do, and that is all that matters, Rasa Diam."

The asari had not triumphed without cost. Her left arm hung limp, dripping blood freely upon the scorched ruin of the floor. Countless other wounds bled sullenly, or leaked from ruptured bionetic or cybernetic implants. Inalia's right cheek was parted to the bone from one of Rasa's knives, and the warpsword in her hand was notched in a dozen places.

"From nothing, to nothing," said Rasa, and she considered this. "We know of a black hole by the absence of light around it. The conscious nullification of your own story is in itself an act of storytelling. Interesting."

Inalia paused for the barest moment as her omni-tool flashed. She looked down at Rasa. "Your kind would call this a 'coda.' We have our own word, but it means the same thing. When a great movement comes to an end. I hope this finality… satisfies you."

Rasa gave the slightest nod, and it was perhaps the only honest gesture she'd given in her entire life. "I have already shaped my message to the universe, and…" A thin smile touched her lips. "…everything ends in time."

The warp sword screamed through the air and burned like the touch of the sun as Inalia T'Rome brought the blade down upon Rasa's chest.

* * *

Vigil's subunits were furiously analyzing the cascade of data fed to him by his sensors. Even though his state was currently limited by the reality disruptor, those limitations themselves told him a great deal. The Arcann had pursued a great many types of technology in their fight against the Reapers, and the Inusannon and Tho'ian had observed their technology.

The device – and he was absolutely certain now that it was in fact an Arcann reality dislocator, used primarily by those insane lunatics to fight Reapers – was used to derange spacetime and disrupt certain kinds of connections – including ansible ones. His primary unit on Parnack and his secondary at Shepard's base couldn't be harmed by this thing, but the Inusannon had developed his own reality anchor based on the Arcann tech – which made him at least somewhat vulnerable to said disruption.

This one was damaged, and it had been modified somehow, this was obvious. It was serving as a disjunction, making obtaining any kind of lock on local three-dimensional space and a single linear expression of time impossible. But several of its higher-dimensional functions – such as switching from disjunction to anchor, appeared to be… leaking? Flickering?

The Arcann had never struck the Inusannon as competent – they'd strewn various plots, schemes, and devices all over several galaxies, and every last one of them was fucked-up beyond any uses.

Bombs that blew up time and ended up doing nothing. Clouds of nano designed to augment species that instead ate them. Defunct biological probe-clouds that mutated into space-borne predators that literally ate ships. Modified species like salarians and turians who were so warped as to be useless. Weapons systems that drew on substrate energy and ended up vaporizing both target and user. The list went on and on.

The older pieces of Arcann tech were usually AI-managed, and this thing must be ancient indeed. Vigil was unclear what exactly it was trying to do, but it was as if the device was reacting like a wounded animal, slowly bleeding as it was stuck in spacetime here at Vol Prime, lodged into the station itself like a bone through the throat.

Arcann tech had a disturbing tendency to mutate and warp itself, and this one had not aged well at all. If it shifted from disjunction to anchor, he would not be affected in the slightest, but if it finished disjuncting, his subunit could be annihilated.

Along, most likely, with a good chunk of the planet and the entire station. Idiot mossbags. The destruction of these volus would absolutely wreck the Citadel economy and throw any possibility of using this Cycle – or realizing what Shepard could achieve – out the airlock.

The worst part was that he was seeing something worse. He could dimly perceive a chorus of energy signatures flurrying around the limits of the disjunction field itself. They appeared alive, as if actively trying to communicate with him or it or the volus or some _thing_ else, but Vigil could not understand any of it.

It was as if a person were shouting at him from the other side of a one-way mirror. He had vaguely seen such things before, and the Protheans had encountered them as well, but he had no frame of reference for what they were. He knew he didn't like them flitting about and cavorting over the Seeker.

Vigil turned to his own functions. He couldn't teleport or phase shift. He could, of course, blast the offending primitive or carve through most of the station, but the Arcann device was shielded in a bubble he'd already tried and failed to penetrate. He had enough power to penetrate that shield, more than enough – but that would lead to explosive collapse of reality and the volus homeworld turning into a cloud of vapor.

Worse, he couldn't communicate his findings to the rest of himself, nor draw power from those units. He still had full control over himself and full access to his defensive screens, so he certainly couldn't be harmed by these spear-waving cretins, but that didn't mean he was comfy right next to an Arcann trainwreck.

Vigil typically approved of any kind of trolling, but this was just stupid.

Still, the volus at least had a better plan than the Citadel did, and he wasn't going to hold it against them for trying. Nor did the stupidity of the idea mean that violence was the ideal solution here. Though that would be… satisfying, after that rude surprise, it would also be extremely unwise. Violently overpowering already unstable Arcann tech was liable to make the same 'ripples' that had drawn the entirety of the Reaper force to the galaxy to deal with the Inusannon and Tho'ians, and his plans were nowhere near ready for that.

Vigil turned his attention to the Seeker in front of him. The volus-creature had rearranged its body into a strange new configuration, shielding its body with glistening plates of liquid crystal muscles that locked into place. Its gel-stem seemed thicker and crackled with a faint blue electric glow. Every fungal mat and tower, every sheet of moss, and every statue in the Archive seemed to come alive in response to the Seeker's presence.

Like _moss and fungus_ was going to slow down an anti-proton blast. He was tempted to atomize the primitive for the sheer effrontery.

There were two options. He could talk to the gasbag, determine what no doubt stupid plot it had, and determine how to proceed. Or he could attempt to overload the Arcann device, hoping it wouldn't take him out with it. The latter could end up with a vaporized station, a volus race that was destabilized and damaged, and him obliterated with no way of alerting his greater self of the danger.

Talk it was.

"Well, you've had your little holier-than-thou speech and demonstrated you are crazy enough to risk killing us all to get your point in, thus I presume you actually have something to say," said Vigil.

 **" **Do you seek to do us harm, Inusannon?"**** said the Seeker, low and rumbling.

Vigil snorted. "Please. Your entire race is a non-entity to my plans. I don't _care_ about you, and I certainly don't care about money or anything else that has you upset. This is the problem with your kind, you are shortsighted immature fools who get upset when your view of the universe is shown to be invalid and pointless."

The Seeker was unimpressed. **" **You threaten everything the volus are, and you plan to use our Cycle to merely weaken the Reapers. I suspect you are also behind the shifts and changes in markets and have taken steps to make sure we fail to stop the Reapers. That is harm, is it not?"****

"This is becoming pointless," said Vigil, and he sighed. "If your source of knowledge is Prothean rants, you should be aware of the actual truth – the Prothean survivors became the Collectors, and now are the slaves of the Reapers. Vnad Ishan _murdered_ the rest of the Protheans who kept fighting and sabotaged the beacons that were supposed to alert and prepare your races. It blamed this on me, but both his own father and Javik rejected his arguments to surrender well before the Protheans stopped listening to me."

The sphere pulsed. "The Collectors are all that remain – slaves, or worse, under Reaper domination, forced to conduct no doubt sickening actions on the life of this Cycle."

The Seeker said nothing, and Vigil continued. "Is that the fate you wish for your kind, mossbag? You think I act as I do because of some amusement factor? That this is some financial game you can win if you control enough points? It is not. I interfere with any and all things that aid those opposed to my own goals – such as _working with and funding the Shadow Broker_."

The sphere pulsed. "But no, I don't seek to _directly_ harm you. Your machinations are merely irritants in my own plan, and will fail alongside all the rest as long as I'm not directly attacked or incited."

The surface of Vigil rippled, and then his voice grew smug. "But this… well, this certainly counts as incitement. This trap was not your design, was it? No. You are a creature of paths and order and memory, not one who embraces madness and chaos. You would never endanger your precious Archive unless you did not truly know the dangers. And you would have, if you understood this technology… meaning you did not recover the device _yourself_."

The Seeker said nothing, merely made that trilling noise again.

"As I suspected. Which leaves a _very_ limited range of possibilities as to what kind of _absolute madman_ would willingly enter an Arcann tomb to plunder it and then—"

Tiffany's head perked up as the pieces came together. She shot a satisfied glance over at Vigil.

"Kumun Shol," she said.

" _Who_?" asked Vigil, and then he spent a couple of seconds processing data. "Ah. I see."

And then a voice spoke in their heads.

 _' _Greetings again, Tiffany of the Minsta-clan, and greetings also unto you, watchful Vigil of the Holy Inusannon.'__

There was no one else in the room, no mouth to speak the words, Vigil didn't even sense any soundwaves crossing the air between them. They simply felt the words inside them, as immediate and intimate as their own thoughts, as if Kumun Shol was hugging their minds like one of his pet rabbits.

Vigil pulsed. "Ugh, Arcann farsending always gives me a headache."

Tiffany was the second to recover her composure. "Oh, hello again, Kumun. Did you manage to find your rabbits?"

 _' _I did!'__ said Kumun, delighted. _' _They hop and bounce and make happy through the Sunset Grove. They enjoyed meeting you, I think.'__

"Primate, why are you humoring this wobbly bag of nuts?" said Vigil.

"It was _lovely_ to play with them," said Tiffany as she glared at Vigil.

"He activated an Arcann deathtrap that could have turned this entire planet into gas!"

She shrugged. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." She refocused her attention. "And I so enjoyed our little chat, Kumun. Much more than I've enjoyed the rest of this day."

 _' _This was the only way to arrange this meeting and strike this bargain,'__ said Kumun. _' _I apologize to you, and to the Most High Seeker, and to the watchful Vigil – but meeting with the Inusannon construct was critical, and it would not deign to speak to me otherwise. While I am sorry your allies have died today, arranging things in this manner was the only way I could keep you safe from the Lily. I am sorry.'__

Tiffany frowned. _He really does sound devastated._

"Well, I forgive you. Though, um, is it possible you could help us out of our current predicament? The Seeker has this device that is… doing something to Vigil, and Vigil is probably going to do something dreadful if he figures out a way to get past it, and I'm stuck in the middle."

Kumun considered this, even as Vigil muttered something along the lines of 'when not if.' _' _Hmph. Yes. But… please tell the Vigil that it can be turned on again very fast – and that I know how it works. It also has a phase disassociation function.'__

She wasn't sure what that meant, but the energy raging over Vigil slowed, then faded. "…Gasbag, your insanity is almost _inspiring_. Do you even know what that does? It would be highly amusing for you to actually test me, but if you are crazy enough to do this, I suspect you wouldn't shy away from doing so. For the moment, however, I will not reduce this station to free-floating atoms if you shut this _abomination_ off."

 _' _Good!'__

There was a _flicker_ in the light, and Tiffany felt her stomach lurch again, and then it settled. She looked around but, as far as she could tell, nothing looked different. She still felt pleasantly tipsy. She could still see the soft glows and shadows of the Archive, still taste the humidity through her rebreather. Vigil glowed softly.

"Our communications link to Minuteman has been reestablished," said Vigil.

The Seeker nodded. **" **Indeed. We must speak again with your master."****

"You really need to learn that my 'master' is a very long-dead Inusannon Emperor, not a bag of meat and water."

The moss-sheets shimmered and waved like spider silk in the breeze, and soon the elegant visage of the Illusive Man filled the display.

 _That sea-blue Bekenstein cut looks rather dapper, doesn't it? Matches the eyes and the cufflinks._

 _Stop checking out the Dogfather, Tiffany. This is Serious Business._

Jack Harper sipped at his Wild Turkey, his every move slow and deliberate. _" _Seeker. I believe we had some connection issues. My apologies."__

The Seeker seemed amused. **" **Niftu Cal spoke highly of your _polda_**** **at the marketplace and the poker table."**

A caddish smirk. _" _Who better to teach one the Four Delights?"__

 _Oh, smooth._

Jack Harper sipped his drink again. _" _Though if you see him, I believe he still owes me fifty credits and a bottle of Master's Keep. He claimed to have acquired it from the ruined vault at Lawrenceburg, but still won't say how, exactly. Nor how he managed to smuggle it past the Solguard quarantine."__

 **" **Shall we resume our negotiations?"****

 _" _Indeed,"__ said the Illusive Man. _" _But first I must ask that you enforce a ceasefire amongst our forces on Vol Prime, effective immediately. I expect you to return both Tiffany Minsta and Rasa Diam alive and unharmed, as much as possible, along with whatever Cerberus forces are still alive. Consider this is an act of goodwill."__

The Seeker made a low rumbling sound, and the Archive seemed to shudder and throb. **" **You hide your irritation well, Jack of the Harper-clan. Very well. It is done. We will also attempt to calm Kaltoth, though that is not easily done. She will see the value of pragmatism in time, we think. We also request on her behalf that you do not hold any vendetta with her and hers. Nor between Inalia of the T'Rome-clan and Rasa Diam of Nothing."****

The Illusive Man let slip the barest trace of relief. _" _That won't be a problem, I assure you. Your cooperation is appreciated. I warn you, however, that I cannot and will not speak for Shepard, or how she might see a being such as Kaltoth."__

He tipped his ashes. _" _Beyond that, Cerberus is fully prepared to use any and all means to aid the Vol-clan in the fight against the Reapers, so long as the Vol-clan promises to aid us in return. I trust that means you will disassociate yourself from the Shadow Broker."__

The Seeker actually seemed to hesitate. **" **The Broker's assistance has been useful."****

Harper's voice took on a darker note. _" _The Broker is in alliance with the Collectors. I don't have all the pieces necessary to prove that, but I note that Barla Von directed investments to each of the wildcat human colonies that were hit and then, on separate accounts, shorted said investments just before each one was abducted. He also setup the assistance provided to Horizon… with defective laser setting and substandard missiles."__

The Seeker said nothing, but the disembodied voice of Kumun Shol echoed throughout the Archive. _' _We will no longer aid or fund the Broker. We must be in unison. All life must, or all life will… die.'__

Harper frowned, and then narrowed his eyes. _" _Can I presume that Kumun Shol speaks for you in this matter?"__

 **" **We are in agreement,"**** said the Seeker. **" **Though there are… certain limitations. We will inform Barla Von of our disassociation, but we cannot order him to cease his own activities. We will not seek to harm Cerberus so long as Cerberus does not seek to harm us, but the High Lords of Sol, the Systems Alliance, any other human forces and their affiliates, these are _not_**** **subject to the same bargain. Many of these groups are demonstrably hostile to the Vol-clan. They do not add value to life, let alone humanity."**

The Illusive Man's face turned dark for a moment. _" _On that… we are in agreement. I have no issue with this. Furthermore, I propose a mutual non-aggression pact between Cerberus and the Unseen Cloud, with an option to cooperate when faced with subjects of common interest."__

 **" **Interesting,"**** said the Seeker, its voice rumbling as it considered the possibilities. **" **Unexpected. We agree to this."****

 _"Excellent."_

 **" **We also ask that Sara of the Shepard-clan considers how the Vol-clan can add much value to her cause. We would be delighted to provide a volus specialist to her team. Perhaps one of our future SPECTRE candidates. I believe Niftu Cal has expressed his interest."****

The Illusive Man blinked. _" _I… I will pass that along. I cannot guarantee her answer, however. She has a tendency to keep her own counsel. Marshal Vidan Marr may be a better choice to convey such a thing to her."__

 **" **A wise suggestion, Harper-clan. Now there is but one final consideration,"**** said the Seeker, pointing a massive paw-hand at Vigil.

"Oh," Vigil sniffed, "am I included in this idiot bartering? This should be vastly amusing, given I'm being held at gunpoint by an overgrown moss librarian and some lunatic with an Arcann deathtrap."

The Seeker said nothing, and the Illusive Man took a very long gulp of Wild Turkey.

"But by all means continue, I cannot wait to hear what fool demands you risked _your entire species' existence_ for." said Vigil.

 _" _I assume you wish for Vigil to cease interfering in volus financial markets, and to otherwise end his shenanigans in Volus Space,"__ said the Illusive Man.

 **" **Indeed,"**** said the Seeker, **" **Consider it a mutual non-aggression pact, with an option to, if Vigil wishes, cooperate with both our own AI and in strengthening the Vol-clan for the fight to come."****

The Illusive Man turned to look at Vigil. _" _Is this acceptable to you, Vigil?"__

Vigil bobbed up and down a little, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I don't care about the volus one way or the other. Or their money. In case it has somehow escaped your understanding, my 'shenanigans' were responses to your bankers attempts to seize and disrupt financial flows that had _nothing to do with you_ , or that aided the Broker. I have no interest in your idiot AI, but assuming you don't bother what I'm doing, I will be more than happy to leave you alone and let you blow yourselves to quarks."

 **" **Then we have an accord, Jack of the Harper-clan,"**** said the Seeker, and it gave a shallow bow.

The Illusive Man nodded. _" _Very good. If you'd be so kind as to ensure the safe departure of our remaining personnel, I believe our business has concluded."__

 _' _Of course, Jack of the Harper-clan. It has been a pleasure to host you,'__ said the voice of Kumun Shol.

Tiffany swore she could hear Kumun clapping his hands together.

Vigil pulsed. "One final thing, Seeker. A word of warning. You most likely think you have some deeper understanding of what is going on, and that this… device gives you some kind of leverage."

Vigil's voice dropped. "Here's the thing, though – _I am in many places_. And while you had a subunit trapped and isolated, that wouldn't have slowed the rest of me down in the slightest. The next time you are arrogant enough to consider bargaining with your betters, please make sure you do the research."

He popped like a soap bubble, and Tiffany sighed.

* * *

 **' **The Damaged Coda'****

 _'All things come to an end. The trick is to make sure your ending is not the end of you.'_

 _-Maya Brooks, 'Flippant Discourse'_

* * *

In House T'Rome's private docking bay in the Presidium, nestled deep within the sanctuary of her corvette, Inalia T'Rome was taking a call.

 _" _Inalia of the T'Rome-clan. It is a pleasure."__

"Kaltoth," said Inalia, nodding. "It's done. Whilst the principals could not be dealt with in the manner we planned, that remains out of our crest. Cerberus influence in the Protectorate has been neutralized and I've achieved your stated political and strategic objectives. Exceeded them, in fact."

 _" _Indeed."__ The Depthwalker leaned into the vidscreen as if ravenous. _" _Kumun Shol contacted me himself. This outcome was… unorthodox, but pleasing to me and useful to my clients. You must know that Cerberus, and especially Vigil, still cannot be trusted. They will betray us at the first opportunity. To think otherwise is simply naïve, given their history. That they, an organized crime syndicate and a human supremacist terror network, call us in the Terminus an 'empire of immoral criminals' is the final insult."__

Privately, Inalia thought that that was an outstanding description of both parties, but she held her tongue. "You should be used to human hypocrisy by now, along with their tendency to flatter themselves."

 _" _Indeed. Though it does offer… leverage over them, in much the same manner that their families do,"__ said Kaltoth. She kept staring at Inalia. _" _I remain curious why you chose to spare Rasa."__

"Professionalism. Effectively I killed her, though no doubt Vigil will bring her back like it did Shepard." Inalia shrugged, wincing a little at the pain in her left arm. "It's of no consequence to me, and the Matriarchs have their own plans. This détente raises the tides with Cerberus, with the volus, and with yourself."

She perked up a little. "Besides, I still defeated her, along with the best that Cerberus could offer."

Kaltoth made a deep growl of pleasure. _" _That you did. You live up to your reputation. A rare thing. How are your teammates recovering? I can recommend some excellent specialists and am happy to pay for whatever treatment or augmentations they may require."__

Inalia snorted. "Aethyta mentioned you could be charming when you wanted to be. Your offer is appreciated, but I'd rather my people were healed on Thessia or the Citadel than by… who would it be, Gears? Golo?"

 _" _Both are misunderstood and both do excellent work for a very competitive fee, in my opinion."__

"…Right. You'll understand if I don't want my people to come back with a tail and six other people's faces stitched onto their bodies."

The volus snorted in amusement, and then Inalia turned serious. "We have one more thing to discuss, Kaltoth."

 _" _Yes, of course. Your mate's biotic torc."__

Inalia felt a slight sick tension flutter over her body, one that cut through the pain of her burns and scars and wounds. She'd tried to suppress it, Goddess, she tried for _years_ , but like her affection for Okeer, it was not something she could truly let go without cutting out a piece of herself, and she'd already cut away too much. Speaking to Uressa about it had helped, but then speaking to Uressa always made her feel slightly guilty for being a shittier person.

 _" _I have Weyrloc Kora's torc here in stasis. You can collect it whenever you'd like, or I can have it shipped to you through whatever means you prefer,"__ said Kaltoth, and she gave a shallow bow.

And just like that, Inalia's tension and guilt dissipated like mist on the wind.

She nodded, slightly suspicious. "Thank you. And to think I expected blackmail or a double-cross."

 _" _Not at all. How cynical of you, asari. You have my appreciation for what you have done here today."__

Inalia gave a murderous little smile. "Good. I'd hate to have to collect it off of you."

 _" _Were it so easy,"__ said Kaltoth, and she smiled back.

* * *

The Face was resting, and Tiffany was thinking.

She was sitting in a chair in the small med-bay of their pinnace. They were three days out from Vol Prime. Three dedicated medbots hummed and beeped as they moved around the bay, making minute adjustments to the bone regenerators, the flesh baths, and the nanite clusters. Five – the sole survivor of their Lost Boy detachment – was currently comatose in one of the healing pods, slowly being rebuilt and rejuvenated.

Tiffany was glad that he was alive, and also knew that that sentiment was slightly mad. Father had told her what Five was – still is – before he became a Lost Boy. Tiffany was probably one of the only women alive who'd ever left a room with Five in it unviolated.

Tiffany's thoughts turned to _her_.

Rasa's body was utterly ruined. Almost all of her synth-skin had been burned away, leaving a bare metal face whose uncanny rictus was deeply unsettling to look upon. It was at once industrial art, medical horror, and a death mask, the kind of thing a futurist cult would keep atop a shrine, offering it human sacrifices. There were a few scraps of bloodied flesh around the edge, and a long, ragged mane of singed red hair, but that only made it worse.

The rest of Rasa's body was a charred skeleton, a barely stable frame of busted cyberware and dying bionetics. The bulk of her legs and arms were simply gone. The worst was a hideous gash from her neck to her groin, a gaping, burned wound were Inalia's warp sword had struck her and spread her ribcage open like the bloodied wings of an angel.

Tiffany found herself staring at the med-bay wall, lost in thought.

She knew Rasa has been toying with her, manipulating her, experimenting with her throughout the duration of this mission. Such a thing would probably continue as long as contact with Rasa did. Tiffany didn't delude herself into thinking she was special in this regard. No doubt Rasa had dozens or even hundreds of subjects she treated the same way – Brooks and the Lost Boys were proof of that. It was simply her nature. You couldn't blame a spider for spinning a web. You couldn't rage against a virus for targeting your internal organs. You couldn't resent a predator for seeing everyone as prey.

And yet, such manipulation did not end with Rasa, did it? She was in turn played by the Illusive Man, and before him the Broker, and before that – well, who knew?

Perhaps fate or chaos or whatever gods directed the universe treated Rasa in much the same way.

Even the Illusive Man was still just that, a man, and so was subject to the same impersonal forces that never ceased to remind humanity of its smallness. Perhaps that was how the universe functioned, as a series of increasingly powerful circles of influence, with beings in each one thinking that they truly wielded power, not knowing that they were mere variables and afterthoughts in something else's game.

Her thoughts turned to Vigil's words, that he had engineered this entire mess to get a better look at the volus, and wondered if existence had always been this way, and decided that it probably had.

"You are alive," said the Voice.

Tiffany jumped up out of her chair, spilling her handbag all over the floor. She scrambled around trying to pick everything up, and then she turned back around and saw Rasa – or what was Rasa – sitting upright in the med-pod, the blank metal face staring at her.

The Face had awakened, and its Voice was a shattered, grating chorus, as if Rasa and a thousand dead machine copies of herself were speaking at once.

"Jesus Christ! R-Rasa. Hello. It's, um, good to see that you made it. Welcome back to the land of the living. I'm glad you're not dead."

The Rasa-thing glanced over at the other stasis unit. "Five?"

"Yes," nodded Tiffany. "He survived. Barely. It's a hell of a story. You'll have to ask him when he wakes up."

"And myself?"

Tiffany shrugged. "Medically speaking you were dead. Are dead, really. Almost ninety per cent of your body isn't recoverable. Most of you is just vapour in Vol Prime's recycling tanks right now. Your primary greybox in your chest was destroyed, but the Silaris plating around your skull held and your secondary greybox and most of your brain is recoverable. Vigil has those in a 'serenity matrix.' The only reason we're even having this conversation is because the Lily allowed me to put you into a stasis pod. She did that on purpose, I think. To send a message."

"That is obvious."

"Yes," said Tiffany, and she paused. "She's terrifying, by the way. The Lily. Inalia T'Rome. When I got out of the Archives – and I don't even recall how the fuck that happened – I saw you on the floor. You were dead. You looked even worse than you do now. No offence. She smirked and then Pulled me over to her. It was terrifying. It was far scarier than anything she could have said or done. It was worse than any weapon in my face. I pissed myself, literally pissed myself. She placed a hand on my jaw – and she has some very lovely hands, I'll admit – like she was inspecting me, and then she made this weird dismissive noise and reached into some compartment in her back and pulled out this stasis kit and gave it to me. So that's how I saved you."

The Face nodded. "Interesting. This muddles her story, and so muddles yours."

"Right," said Tiffany, not quite understanding that. "So. You'll be rebuilt. Nobody knows how this will affect you, physically or mentally, or your capabilities. I mean, technically you're no longer human. Your mind and consciousness will survive, thanks solely to Vigil and – not to brag – myself, but metaphysically it's debatable whether you're even the original Rasa anymore."

Tiffany paused and then gave a little smile. "I thought you'd like that, though. You've literally sacrificed your identity, and now you're being reincarnated… as no one."

"This is not the first time I have had that happen to me."

They were both silent for a few minutes.

"I've been thinking about you, you know," said Tiffany.

The Face seemed almost bored, as if this was something tedious and predictable.

"For someone who values stories so highly, you almost never tell them. Not in a manner any normal person would understand. The only time, really, when I see you talking or joking like a regular person is when you're playing the part of one. Your default affect – if I can call it that – is, well, this. Flat, sinister, creepy, constantly psychoanalyzing people when you aren't murdering them. I…"

Tiffany's voice trailed off, and the only sound in the room was the gentle beeping of the medbot and the low hum of the bone regenerator. She was acutely aware of the septic smell in the air and the touch of her sweaty fingers on the heavy cotton weave of the hospital sheets.

"Finish the thought," said the Face.

Tiffany broke off eye contact. "I don't mean it as an insult, not at all. We've saved each other's lives. I respect you. I just don't trust you in anything but a professional context."

The Voice sounded musing. "That is wise. Trust is a child's endeavor."

"Clearly," quipped Tiffany. "But I'm genuinely curious. Do you have a social life? Are you capable of that? Are you like this with everyone when you're not playing a role and telling a story? What do you and Brooks talk about? How do you act – as you, as Rasa, not anything else – when you're, I don't know, in a dress shop, or having a slow day at work, or at a dinner party, or having coffee with a friend? Do you even have friends? Were you always like this? Have you ever wanted to be different?"

Tiffany stopped and took a deep breath.

"You keep searching for an identity where there is none and a past where none matters. It is less to 'understand' me and more to soothe yourself. My past is null and my identity is even less," said the Rasa-thing, and even without eyes, she cocked her blank metal head to the side like a hungry wolf. "In the beginning, you did this because you were scared and you defaulted to frantic analysis covered up by bitchy waspishness. The kind of thing that served you well in your sorority or on the cocktail circuit."

A cool nod. "That's a… fair, if slightly stinging assessment."

"Though you have learned to be like water in the face of criticism. And danger, to a lesser extent. Previously, you responded with haughty anger or mere panic. Well, that and drinking. Rather like your father."

Tiffany beamed. "I _don't_ have a drinking problem, but if I did it would be one of exquisite good taste."

"You still make use of witty jokes and an exaggerated air of nonchalance as a way to cope with the fear and unease I make you feel."

"It keeps me high-functioning," shrugged Tiffany, "and besides, if your identity doesn't matter, then why should mine? Why should anyone's?"

The Face nodded. "That is an ideal worth striving towards, but you forget that most people cling to their identities like a shipwrecked man clings to driftwood. They are weak. Their every behavioral driver tells them to continue as they are and to fight the water around them. Until you are capable of this kind of fluidity, and identity-personality nullification, than your identity is not an asset. It is the problem. Hence why we focused so much on emotional control and conditioning."

"I _knew_ there was a fucking reason for all that!"

The Rasa-thing said nothing.

"So," said Tiffany, waving an arm around the room. "Now that this is over – how'd I do?"

The Face considered this. "You have my thanks for recovering my body. You are now… more adequate than you were before. There is potential for a stronger fluidity to your being."

"Was that a compliment?" said Tiffany, placing a hand over her chest and feigning wide-eyed shock. "That's the kind of warmth and sincerity you normally reserve for murder and sexual threats. I am _touched_."

"You still require work."

"Oh."

Rasa kept staring at her. "It's probably for the best that you're blonde."

* * *

In the Archive of All Under Heaven, all was still.

Soft warm light filtered into the room and was scattered by the shimmering strands of moss or absorbed by the strange gray-green carapace on the walls. The smooth dark stone on the floor was both cool and warm to the touch, and there was a thick dampness in the air.

In the middle of the room was the Seeker, and it spoke to the volus in front of it, its voice carrying through the room like the clash of thunder.

 **" **Your hypothesis proved to be correct. The Inusannon-construct did not attempt to kill us. Though no doubt he considered it tempting."****

"Yes," said Kumun Shol, nodding his head. "The Vigil could have destroyed the device from within, but not without so much collateral damage as to ruin his plans. I was not aware he had multiple units, but it does not matter. The device was able to neutralize him – if only partially – meaning we have a defense. And now there is no chance his interfering in our systems would lead him to find the Holdfast."

The Seeker's voice was calmly musing. **" **Pity. Do you place any weight on what the construct said about the Protheans?"****

Kumun Shol shivered. "I do not know. The device was analyzing Vigil while restraining him, and I could see flashes of things I had no context for. It is possible… the writings we found seemed very slanted from what we understand of the Protheans. The Beings of Light were there and were trying to reach out to the Vigil, but he was ignoring them."

The Seeker's head tilted, the tone becoming curious. **" **Ignoring them? That is… a data point to consider. What of the other devices, are they functional yet?"****

Kumun gave a slow now. "The Farcalling device is. The dysfunction device only one part of a greater whole, and the Beings of Light seem to be pleased by my usage of them. The portal device is the one they swarm around the most, but we cannot seem to make it work. It's a pity we can't understand them, but I can see them. I wish I couldn't, but I can."

 **" **You remain convinced it is possible we can speak with some of these powers? Find a way to prevent the great harvest to come? Or use this Farcalling device – possibly to make peace with this Darkness you see in your visions?"****

Kumun moaned in pain and clasped his head with both of his hands as another tremor shook him, as if his skull was being held in a vice and a steel rod slowly forced into it. Two animated statues made their way over to him, offering medicines and a soft mat to lay on, but Kumun waved them away.

 **" **You will need rest if you wish to remain lucid, Kumun,"**** said the Seeker, unable to hide its concern.

"It doesn't matter. The next conclave of the Proctors is not for weeks. I will have time to recover. But… I would not… use the device to contact the Darkness. It is not safe."

The Seeker watched as Kumun's head swayed back-and-forth, the movement shallow but rapid, and he seemed to shake a little on his left side. His eyes were like two pools of ink on a moonless night, and yet they almost seemed to glow with a dark light that only he could see.

The Seeker felt a great pain in its anima at it was forced to watch, helpless, as its friend suffered. It knew that Kumun Shol was slowly dying.

"It, it, i-it doesn't matter," said Kumun, trying to speak even though he kept shaking and his head burned and throbbed. "W-We must stop what is coming. Must stop. That is all that matters. Affirm life. The visions, the visions tell me that there is a great machine, one that can harness the power of the bubble surrounding this galaxy we live in, and that this device can save us."

 **" **Be that as it may,"**** said the Seeker, as it strode between the great stone statues that dotted the Archive, **" **we find it suspicious that it has not been used, or that any evidence of its use has vanished. The Reapers would not allow such a thing to exist if they knew of it, and the Inusannon-construct is playing coy. The Prothean records tell us nothing of such a thing.****

 **" **Still, we have weapons, and we know they work. Plenix knows there has been enough suffering today."****

"Hmph. Most would gloat at this kind of victory."

The Seeker never seemed so old as it did in that moment, as it slowly turned its head to face him. **" **We do not gloat, Kumun. We mourn. We mourn for the lives that were lost on this day and we mourn for the lives to be lost in the days to come. And we also mourn for you."****

"Don't let melancholy take you, my friend. I have a purpose now. I don't begrudge it. I don't resent it. I accept it." Kumun looked up at the Seeker and he smiled, and if the Seeker could have wept then it would. "The Vol-clan will always be the light in my eyes. Always. Until the fire of Aru grows dark and cold."

 **" **Even if your own light is extinguished?"****

Kumun paused. "If it comes to that? Yes. I don't want to die. I don't look forward to it. But if it must be done, then so be it. Entropy is the Great Enemy, its vanguard are the endless Black Leaves, and Darkness follows. We must fight it. We must."

* * *

"Your suggestion seems to have paid off, although at a heavy cost, Vigil."

Jack Harper brushed away a droplet of condensation that had fallen from his glass onto his slacks, and looked up at the floating sphere. "It will take a great deal of time, effort, and money to rebuild Rasa."

The sphere pulsed irritably, making the room vibrate slightly. "Spare me. That woman is even crazier than a Griannon war-dancer, and twice as damaged in the head. Rebuilding her is just going to end up in tears when she pisses-off Shepard."

Harper tilted his head. "I don't really plan for them to interact much, and Rasa knows how to behave."

Vigil gave a very human sounding sigh. "I know you like collecting murderous angst-freaks like a normal person collects seashells or coins, but have you ever given any thought to hiring people who _aren't insane_?"

Harper lit a cigarette. "Broken people have the ability to endure where others fail, and levers to use in case they become… problematic. As for Rasa, she has her uses, as does Brooks. So did her Lost Boys, although… I am somewhat pleased the majority of them are dead. Explaining that to Shepard would have been a very difficult exercise in careful wording."

He inhaled, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "But to the point at hand… the volus."

Vigil pulsed again. "Much of the oddities I detected in Volus Space – and with the volus financial system – make sense now, in light of the disgraceful showing I just endured. I suspect Kaltoth is double-dealing, drawing Aria to be more and more dependent on her financial assets and outside support since she is funneling money into colonization instead of pirate fleets."

A viewscreen on the far wall lit up, scrolling through financial transactions. "Kaltoth makes Aria financially vulnerable, has Barla Von do his magic – convenient stock failures, bankruptcies, 'pirates' – and suddenly she is nearly broke. The Broker could easily twist things to his advantage using this method, although it would still take years before it paid off. Given meatbag stupidity, the plan was almost sublime."

Harper nodded, eyes narrowed. "And this… device?"

Vigil's voice came out sounding peeved. "A very unexpected bit of news. I had originally gone so deeply into volus financing because billions of credits were being hidden behind layer after layer of financial skullduggery. Given volus cultural beliefs in transparency, this was a red flag. They weren't just investing with the Broker – Deathwatch, the AIS, the SIX, a half-dozen pirate groups, several merc groups…"

The sphere glowed faintly. "In essence, they were very slowly building up a capacity to cripple – via financial withdrawal – a fairly large chunk of military and intelligence forces. Now we know why, to divert attention from Kumun Shol's insane dig sites."

The Illusive Man dumped his ashes, musing. "This is the first time I've seen your abilities stymied. Was it wise not to destroy this device?"

Vigil's usual smug tone rang out. "Not possible at the time. It would have taken out Irune and Vol Prime. Besides, it is a problem that I suspect will solve itself over time. The Arcann were, to put it lightly, brilliant idiots. Meddling with that tech is going to blow up in the volus's faces – and will provide a fine explanation for some higher-technology weapons that your Cycle could not hope to produce on their own."

The silvery ball floated higher. "The devices themselves are no real threat. Their range is pitiful, they draw so much power that even Vol Prime's massive generators were strained, and if they fail it tends to be… explosive and ruinous. They probably had that disjunctor on a ship and out of the system before your agents were even off the station. As a weapon to stop me it is worse than useless – I know the signature now, and my remotes upon detecting such will simply shut off the power source."

Harper nodded. "That does seem to be of limited utility to use against you, in that case. And your other line of inquiry?"

Vigil pulsed smugly. "There was a span of a few seconds between my arrival in the Seeker's sanctuary and his activation of the device. Given how fast I work, it might as well have been a few _years_. I've copied everything of possible relevance. The clients of the volus banking system, the locations of Kumun Shol's dig sites – which, by the way, I am getting nowhere near – and a few other tidbits… including financial transfers to a series of heavily baffled and false-fronted construction companies of some of your favorite old friends."

Harper smiled. "I long suspected Richard would use volus banks. He felt asari ones were too liable to intrusion… and he trusted greed. You have found locations of his forces or bases?"

Vigil shifted the display on the wall to a starmap. "If the transaction codes are correct, Hades has facilities on Alte, Garrons IV, the moon of Europa in Sol, and most importantly, a very large and well-hidden facility on Bekenstein. I don't have penetration on any of those yet, but they're all large enough that they are not temporary facilities. I have all his various accounts marked and we can start tracing the money."

Jack smiled. "Excellent. The volus and the Unseen Cloud will be useful allies, and snipping off the Broker's funding from them will only put him more off-balance. Kaltoth may or may not be a problem in the future, but I'm sure informing Shepard at the proper time of just how the Depthwalkers think – and how Kaltoth makes her money – will resolve that problem for us."

He exhaled. "Which brings me to why you thought it so important to risk the lives of one of my top assassins and the daughter of my primary link to the Lords of Sol on a wild goose chase if you didn't know what was really happening with the volus."

The sphere was silent for a few seconds. "Mr. Harper, I'm not in the habit of explaining my reasoning. Partly due to the fact that _you don't really need to know_ , and partly because there are often elements that would simply take too long to explain in a way that makes sense. In this instance, Cerberus was simply almost impossibly unsuited to figuring out what was going on in Volus Space. Your assassins are widely known and not very subtle. Your other operatives were simply likely to be picked up by the Unseen Cloud."

The sphere glowed softly. "But Tiffany Minsta, by dint of not really being formally associated with Cerberus and yet the daughter of a Lord of Sol, was a bit too high profile for the volus to simply kill off. I suspected they would have some kind of grand, melodramatic trap or some such nonsense at hand and prepared accordingly… although not accordingly enough for an Arcann deathtrap."

Harper's voice held a thin note of irritation. "That does not exactly explain why you chose this course of action."

Vigil gave a pulse. "Hacking the volus would not be impossible, but there is no way I could have done so cleanly, and certainly not without drawing their direct hostility. That was not prudent. Third parties could not be trusted, direct assault would have brought down the entire Citadel on our heads, and we had mysterious and strange signals and issues that only a detailed close-range scan done physically could resolve. Can you think of any better methods than a sacrificial feint?"

The Illusive Man said nothing, and Vigil's internal amusement redoubled. "Now, if you excuse me, I have to go patch up your child-raping crazy woman. It would be helpful if, once the doctors are done with the fallout from Ilium, you have them do the work on Rasa. All the equipment is there, after all."

Harper winced. "Brooks will want to be there. I don't know how well that will go with Shepard and her people."

Vigil gave a chuckle. "Travel time, use it to your advantage. Have the repairs happen while the undead meatbag is on the Citadel. Problem solved. Must I do _everything_ , Mr. Harper? Try to up your game."

The sphere vanished, and Harper merely took another drink from his Wild Turkey.


	12. Chapter 12: Volus Figures of Note

**A/N:** _This is also **Jacob's** work, and pretty much 100% of the content except for Galen Minsta's snippet at the bottom is his._

 _Make sure you congratulate him._

* * *

 **Volus Figures of Note**

* * *

 **MESSAGE HEADER: BEGIN HELNET ENCRYPTION STRING**

 **NEGOTIATING ARBITRAGE HEADERS…CLEAR**

 **HERA-ONE-SEVEN-FOUR: TIFFANY-174**

 **CREATING HANDSHAKE…ACKNOWLEDGEMENT HANDSHAKE ACCEPTED**

 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: TIFFANY MINSTA**

Sir,

I'll get straight to it and skip the introduction, given how much time we had to spend on _fleeing for our lives_. Not to mention Vigil and the entire mess with the Seeker. And Inalia T'Rome. And nearly dying.

Ahem.

I'm fine, it's just that the adrenaline hasn't worn off and I'm constantly thinking about death. My brush with death, Rasa's 'death,' Father's eventual death, Lost Boy deaths, just death in general – an expected side-effect of dealing with more death in two weeks than I had in the preceding twenty-one years.

According to Pel, fleeing for your life is a fairly common experience in the Dog, and I should get used to it.

This is not comforting. I find it hard to focus, so instead of pondering more on such weighty issues, I'll simply go ahead with the report on the various wobbly figures of note.

* * *

 **Zerin Ella** , _Cloudmaster of the Vol Protectorate, Gaur of the Ella Clan, Cloudwalker of the Path of Plenix, Proctor of the Vol Protectorate_.

Zerin of the Ella Clan is an unusual woman, something of a maverick by volus standards, and certainly within the rarefied circle she operates in. Why? Because she doesn't really belong there. The Ella Clan are perfectly respectable and all that, but they're largely a bunch of stellar cartographers, astrophysicists, shipwrights, and explorers – not the usual high finance, high-technology, or logistical juggernauts who grace the glittering halls of Vol Prime. Their combine is very successful and would not be out of place on the Corporate Court of the SA, but by volus standards they're basically a hobbyist outfit run by a herd of hillbilly goobers, like the Marr Clan but with less uncouth guns.

Of course, her newfound peers would argue that all volus stand to profit most handsomely from their socioeconomic structures, that such things are clearly the most effective means of extracting net value and energy from the universe, and therefore they have a moral imperative to maintain these structures. Eloquent arguments spoken by practiced orators, men and women who are the Proctors of the Vol Protectorate, the greatest leaders and tycoons their species has to offer. None of that matters, because what Zerin hears is that she doesn't really deserve to be Cloudmaster and that she sure as hell hasn't earned it in the usual way. _(Addendum: She's right, by the way. That's exactly what the other Proctors are thinking, with the exception of Gadot Kwunu, whom you'll meet later on. -Tiffany)_

The Ella Clan only achieved great wealth and notoriety after securing various stellar exploration and development contracts from the Citadel and the Hierarchy after the collapse of their rivals in the assault on Noveria, and Zerin rather cleverly managed to parlay this into a seat as a Proctor in exchange for pressuring the quarians to support volus claims for a place in the Citadel Council.

She knew this bid would fail, and so did the quarian ambassador, but both of them also knew that once Zerin was a Proctor she would have the right to directly negotiate with the Migrant Fleet, thus avoiding all kinds of oversight and neutering most takeover bids from possible rivals. After that, she was made _acting_ -Cloudmaster on account of the previous Cloudmaster suddenly becoming ill, and even then, he only named her as temporary deputy because he knew that literally no other volus in the room would see her as a serious nominee for successor, and therefore not as any kind of threat. Nobody – not the Cloudmaster, not Zerin, not any of the Proctors – actually expected his illness to worsen to the point where he had to abdicate his position.

So that's how Zerin of the Ella Clan became Cloudmaster of the Vol Protectorate. In her defence, she IS a rather clever business woman with an unnervingly steady disposition in the face of a crisis and a surprising appetite for risk. (Traditionally, Cloudmasters are tactically aggressive but strategically conservative, though of course there have been many exceptions.) The Ella Clan simply doesn't have the financial power and political influence to guarantee her lasting security, despite their best efforts, and so Zerin has been forced to make allies.

She's dependent on Gadot Kwunu, has the conditional support of the Rol Clan, and is in the good graces of the Ores Tashen, the Most High of the Cloudwalkers… but the Von and Cal Clans despise her and the Elkoss certainly aren't going to pick sides without massive concessions, so she's making a bet on the increasing influence of the VDF over the coming years and is courting the support of the otherwise middle-tier Marr Clan. Overall, a bold yet risky strategy, and if she succeeds, she'll finally have some real lasting security in her position, but at the moment it could go either way.

She's somewhat blunt and, whilst quite friendly and sociable by alien standards, is not seen as polished or adroit by most of her peers. A naval engineer by trade, she is mated, has four young-adult children, and enjoys astronomy, fine dining, and stellar photography.

* * *

 **Gadot Kwunu** , _Most High Ambassador to the Citadel and the Citadel Races, Gaur of the Kwunu Clan, First Claw of the Primarch Imperator's Favour, Proctor of the Vol Protectorate_.

The Kwunu Clan have dominated volus diplomatic and cultural affairs for thousands of years, and upon meeting Gadot Kwunu, you'll soon realise why. Elegant, perceptive, charming, and gregarious, she's a great favourite of the turians and more recently the quarians. This is perhaps unsurprising given how both of those species venerate ancestry, and Kwunu's is impeccable – one of her clan was the volus who negotiated their client-status with Palaven. Even Ambassador Udina was fond enough of her to agree to share embassy space, along with the elcor. _(Addendum: Watching her ham it up and flirt with Udina to embarrass him in front of his staff never gets old. -Tiffany)_

Her deputy, Din Korlack, is something of a player in his own right, and is largely responsible for the wobbly outreach programs to humanity. These programs have very much endeared the little aliens to our common rabble, and his masterstroke – having volus actors feature in human sitcoms and children's shows, with guest cameos from wobbly CEOs – has only enhanced this.

Kwunu maintains close ties to the Palavanus, having received the honour sash of the Imperator's Favour, and is instrumental in their efforts to smooth things over with the more unruly cluster Primarchs, often acting as a go-between for those whose intensely nationalist constituents prevent them from being publicly seen with rival Primarchs. She's also spearheaded the recent volus investment initiative and cultural exchange with the quarian Migrant Fleet.

Her upbringing was rigorous and she was groomed from a young age by her clan elders to ascend to clan leadership and represent them on the Citadel; as far as her clan is concerned, the fact that she also happens to represent all volus is merely a bonus. Gadot received the usual classical education you'd expect from the children of the highest clans, focusing on econometrics, logistics, law, history, and xenopsychology, but what was unusual was that she chose to study and live abroad for long periods of time at a rather young age.

She spent eighteen months living in the salarian colonies of the Black Rim (the salarians are too paranoid to let _any_ alien live on Sur'Kesh, but she did visit often), another eighteen months living on Thessia, and a full five years living on Palaven. Additionally, she's gone on several extended tours and diplomatic missions throughout Citadel Space, spending time on Bekenstein, Terra Nova, the Silver Rim, Earth, and (most scandalously) a few weeks in both Facinus Space and the former batarian 'trade' colony of Goresh III. To be fair, she spun those last two as high-level efforts to diffuse great power squabbles, plus she travelled with a small escort from the Spectre office, which carried a certain symbolic weight and discouraged most petty attempts at piracy or assassination.

Now in her late seventies – just entering the prime of her life by volus standards – Kwunu continues to reign supreme in volus high society, though she has come under intense criticism from the Rol and Von Clans for allowing the turians to sever their client-state relationship with Irune. This is mere politicking though, and she is fully aware that her rivals are, in reality, seeking greater diplomatic leverage to open alien markets up to Rol and Von-associated combines at the expense of the Kwunu.

Her greatest professional accomplishments in her current position would probably be passing the volus proposal that led to the 'Citadel Banking Reform Act of 2177' (and sneaking in tax deductions for dreadnought combat deployments, which made Fedorian the happiest spike in the Spire), supporting House T'Shora's charitable aid work in the aftermath of the First Contact War (far too many of our kind were pathetically grateful for what basically amounted to cultural subversion in the form of token handouts), and securing a joint mining development contract with the Migrant Fleet (playing on the Admiralty's suspicion of alien motives yet overwhelming appreciation for demonstrated loyalty, and the Kwunu Clan certainly made a mint on those contracts).

As you can see, something for everybody to enjoy, and she plays the game well.

In her personal life, she's mated (apparently to an art dealer) and has three children (each in the wobbly equivalent of the late teens), though this hasn't stopped her from throwing soirées on the Silversun Strip every month for the last fifteen years. This is, to a point, expected for an ambassador and clan ruler, I'll give you that, but remember that these are volus affairs and so there is _never_ any true division between matters of business and matters of pleasure.

Kwunu's reputation as a lively and generous soul is no act, but volus cultural structures make it impossible to reach that level of volus society without being both brilliant at what you do and consistently delivering results to your stakeholders. At the moment, she's widely viewed as the true power behind the Cloudmaster. Now, that's not entirely true – Zerin Ella is her own woman – but Kwunu's immense influence on the galactic stage certainly makes her an invaluable ally, and it's anyone's guess what her ultimate goal is.

* * *

 **Ores Tashen** , _the Most High, Two Hundred and First of the Unbroken Line of the Blessed of Plenix, Cloudwalker Ascendant of the Cloudwalker Clan, Honorary Proctor of the Vol Protectorate_.

The current 'Ores Tashen' – referred to as the definite article, ' _The_ Ores Tashen' – is the two hundred and first volus to hold the title/being/personage of the Ores Tashen, the most revered practitioner and spiritual figurehead of those who follow the Book of Plenix. We have no idea what his actual birth name is, nor do we know of any clan or clannu allegiance, but I suppose it doesn't matter. What does matter is how he shapes volus society. The current Ores Tashen is a curiously bipolar figure, alternating between classically orthodox stances on some issues and extremely aggressive reforms on the other.

Orthodox: his consistent emphasis on net value creation and energy extraction, the imperative of swift and decisive action, the metaphysical nature of a closed system, and his staunch support of classical art forms like the Bolo paintings.

Reformer: a radically hard-line approach to dissent and apostasy (at least as volus see it), specifically targeting certain alien charities and religious orders (which he sees as disgustingly parasitic hypocrites who breed learned helplessness in the poor fools who follow them), as well as the Fallen (who he sees as genuinely evil agents of Entropy, leeching value from the universe and spreading suffering in their wake) – such people and organisations obviously need to be eliminated.

He hasn't called for outright violence against them, of course, having stated that they should "be defeated in the marketplace of ideas by the bountiful deeds of those who walk the Path of Plenix," but he did note that "does not the Sixth Tenet of the Path of Plenix, the tenet of the Fallen, state truthfully that we must send to the Depths those that have chosen to revel in such a place? And if so – and it is so, my brothers and sisters, it is indeed – then why does the banishing mechanism matter?" _(Addendum: As you'll have no doubt read, the Sixth Tenet really does say pretty much that, so theologically speaking, he has a solid point here. -Tiffany)_

None of the Most High is as clumsy or gauche as to go around blatantly shouting orders or demanding a role in business and government, and the Ores Tashen is no exception. That's not how any of these people work. Like the Priestesses of the Sun, _et al_ , the Most High are well-off, but, compared to their species as a whole, do not control a huge amount of assets, financial or otherwise. This is the theory – in practice, their word carries a great deal of weight and rare indeed is the volus who would refuse a direct request for capital or services from those who have so well-trod the Path of Plenix. Even the most heinous of the Depthwalker criminals, who have renounced their own species and almost everything it stands for, will treat a Cloudwalker with an icy politeness.

To suggest that the Ores Tashen is some kind of charlatan or snake oil salesman is simply not true – he was something of an ascetic in his youth and actually did a series of pro bono lectures on the volus faith at the Citadel as part of a cultural exchange program. As far as we can tell, he seems genuinely committed to his theological positions and is keen to defend them before anyone who asks him. _(Addendum: His 'ascetic' lifestyle is only so by volus standards. He still dined like a Manswell, but refused any personal financial interest in the clan, quite a radical choice. -Tiffany)_

I honestly don't know what to make of a man who will sell his own valuables in order to raise funds to create a labour hire company for disenfranchised wildcatter humans, or offer free medical care to pregnant clanless asari maidens, and then in his next broadcast openly state that those who leech value from the universe deserve to be ostracised and left to die.

* * *

 **Barla Von** , _Chief Executive Officer of Barla Von Financial Associates, Demi-Gaur of the Von Clan, Proctor of the Vol Protectorate, suspected consigliere of the Shadow Broker_.

This sneaky little bastard is a microcosm of everything volus.

Dryly amusing and studiously polite when he isn't hyper-focused or dissociative, intellectually brilliant yet philosophically rigid, alternatively risk-averse and astoundingly bold, caught up in the day-to-day running of his clan and clannu but never losing sight of the end goals, Barla Von is above all else a survivor. Frankly, _anyone_ who manages to make it for decades in the Darwinian world of the Shadow Broker deserves a certain baseline of respect.

That Barla Von has managed to maintain his lofty perch on the Citadel, run one of the most respected financial services firms in the galaxy, serve as Demi-Gaur of the esteemed Von Clan, and serve as a Proctor of the Vol Protectorate _whilst acting as the banker for the goddamn Shadow Broker_ is nothing short of amazing and a testament to the man's skill and audacity.

Think about this for a second. Really think about, because it raises serious questions as to the true nature of Barla Von, his operations, his security measures, and his tradecraft. Barla Von has managed to outrun C-Sec, the Spectre office (which he's literally in sight of!), the Citadel Council, the STG, Cerberus, Hades, the AIS, the Noveria Development Corporation, Aria, everyone else on Omega, the Shifter, all of his enemies on Vol Prime, and Christ alone knows who else.

You know what? I don't believe that there is a supermassive black hole at the centre of this galaxy. I'm now convinced that that space is occupied solely by Barla Von's supermassive balls.

First things first: Barla Von is the third-born son of the head of the Von Clan, one of the most powerful and well-regarded clans in Volus Space (only slightly below the highest, which even after five thousand years _still_ pisses them off), and his early years were spent studying remotely for his doctorates in econometrics, intergalactic commerce, xenopsychology, and history; courting his mate and fathering his three children (one of whom is dead); and, finally, advancing his fledgling company's interests on the Citadel. _(Addendum: And by 'interests,' I mean the most gorgeously elegant money laundering operation you've ever seen. I have to admit, he does better work than me. It's so good it's legal. -Tiffany)_

He was widely regarded as a brilliant business mind in his youth, even by the lofty standards of his own clan, but (as with Tela Vasir) one can only keep the rumours at bay for so long, and once his association with Tetrimus Rakora became an open secret amongst the kind of circles he operates in, most of polite society declined to be seen in public with him – though of course these hypocrites do business with his organisation behind closed doors.

I would very much like to see the client register at Barla Von Financial Associates, given the rumours about who's on it.

I'm admittedly curious to see how the Dog deals with him in the future. His association with the Shadow Broker is problematic, of course, but it's just that: an association. A long-term one, yes, I won't debate that, but business is business, and competitors come and go. They might be allies one day and enemies the next, and surely Barla knows that the Shadow Broker is fundamentally incapable of anything approaching friendship or loyalty.

Technically, Barla isn't a part of the Broker's operations directorate, and outside of the financial side of things he isn't really in the loop on matters of intelligence or black operations, which of course is exactly how he likes it. It's possible we'll have to kill him or at least neutralise his operations at some point in the near future, but it's equally possible we can co-opt or even recruit him ourselves. He's no fool, and is far too well-protected on the Citadel to risk a direct assault, but perhaps he'd be open to an offer from a certain owner of a certain Dog at the right time?

Something to ponder, sir.

* * *

 **Ortu Elkoss** , _Chief Executive Officer of the Elkoss Combine, Director Prime of the Elkoss Combine, Gaur of the Elkoss Clan_.

[Please see the Noveria Development Corporation file for details.]

* * *

 **Dessu Cal** , _Chief Executive Officer of the Special Investments Division of the Volus Defence Force of the Vol Protectorate_.

[Please see the Noveria Development Corporation file for details.]

* * *

 **Vidon Marr** , _the Lance of Irune, High Executive-Marshall of the Volus Defence Force of the Vol Protectorate_.

Your inarticulate rage zombie could probably tell you more about Vidon Marr than I could, assuming that the lovely Ms. Shepard is back from her latest bloodletting spree. I believe they worked together during the Benezia Incident, in the assault on Ilos, no? And before that when they were investigating Saren's activities? No matter. Vidon of the Marr Clan has been a very busy man since then. He now has a mate. His sister Bouda has just been promoted to Chief Executive Officer of the VDF's Biotic Investments Division, and Vidon himself has just been declared CEO of the entire VDF. _(Addendum: Westerlund News has taken to calling him the 'Wobble Shogun,' which I suppose is what passes for wit amongst those lobotomised rubes. -Tiffany)_

All in all, it's been an excellent couple of years for Vidon Marr.

I had a chat with Pel about this. Apparently, Vidon is something of a prodigy within the VDF, and he managed to earn the respect of both the Citadel and the turians as a result of his conduct during the Benezia Incident. In most species, it would be absurd for a forty-seven-year-old to be appointed supreme commander of their entire military, but volus are very much a pragmatic and meritocratic people. Say what you want, but he's been blooded in many battles for Irune, and no one can dispute his skill or courage. Since the Benezia Incident, he's mostly been involved in the VDF action during the Geth War, supporting the turian assaults outside the Perseus Veil, and is largely responsible for the VDF's remarkable military build-up and rapid research and development over the last eighteen months.

It occurs to me that – given his current status within the VDF and Shepard's solid working relationship with him in the past – well, let's say he'd be a useful ally for when humanity's champion and her Dog sponsor decide to come out to the galaxy…

* * *

 **Kaltoth the Depthwalker** , _formerly of the Rol Clan, current member of Aria's Circle of the Fallen, 'She who has walked under the Empty Gate_. _'_

Oh, this cunt.

Am I coming across as angry? I'm sorry if I _am_ coming across as angry, but this twatwaffle _tried to have me killed_.

No, no, it's fine. I'm fine. We can continue.

Kaltoth the Depthwalker needs no introduction, really. She's something of a legend in the Terminus. She is the only volus member of the Circle of the Fallen, Aria's posse of Terminus crime lords, and is also the only woman present (aside from asari). She handles the subtler and more insidious aspects of Aria's business in much the same way that Barla Von acts as the consigliere for the Shadow Broker. She's supposedly also the source of some of Aria's funding, as well as almost all of Aria's money laundering, and as such, has more input and control into how the Circle of the Fallen as a whole operates.

She was almost certainly born into the upper reaches of the Rol Clan, and has discreetly retained some kind of relationship with her sisters, brother, and a couple of cousins, but, of course, _officially_ , the entire clan has denied this. We know that she is a confirmed full-spectrum Depthwalker, of the Path of the Original Intent, and that she owns several artefacts related to the volus War of Assassins and the Shrouded Divine itself, including, rumor has it, one of the oldest known copies of its unholy text.

Her personality? Well, we know she's cunning, manipulative, paranoid, prone to discreet violence, has a nasty survivalist streak, and does not forgive or forget _any_ slight. In a yahg, this would be normal. In a volus, this is fucking nuts. She isn't just off her tree – she's keeled over and burnt down the whole damn forest. It's like someone stuffed the personality of a great white shark into the body of a koala.

 _(Addendum: Note that I'm referring to the adorable pre-Days of Iron koalas, and not to the unstoppable juggernauts that roam the Outback today, spreading only death and chlamydia -Tiffany.)_

Still, like all volus she enjoys good food, good drinks, and a good party. She supposedly has a passion for mathematics and mathematical art. She was, rather hilariously, lovers with Barla Von (of all people!) when both were in their youth, about forty years ago. Given that both their current employers are mortal enemies, perhaps their falling out was unavoidable, but it's curious that both still go out of their way to avoid directly harming the other if possible.

How sweet.

Based on a few minutes of combat footage during the Burning, her suit is very heavily armoured and she favours graal spike throwers, high-explosives, and heavy (as in megawatt-range) laser dazzlers. Her personal retinue is relatively small and comprised of Depthwalker associates, but most of her actual employees are corrupt former C-Sec detectives, exiled intelligence officers and private knowledge brokers, and a small number of bionetically enhanced enforcers (mostly drell outcasts and, oddly enough, human gangsters from Hardluck, outside the NY Arcology). Kaltoth is also the largest sponsor and employer of quarians on Omega, and supposedly has an exiled former Techmarine in her service. Rumors abound of her dealings with Golo, though no one is willing to offer any hard evidence on what exactly that involves.

Can't say I blame them. Golo even creeps out Rasa.

Note that Kaltoth's people are _not_ the private army of goons and mercenaries that most criminal figures go for. They don't need to be. Such things are an inefficient use of energy and effort. They're going to be the ones processing your data packets, reviewing your shipping manifests, representing you in court, handling your banking, hooking you up with contracts and contacts, and quietly removing problematic things and people.

Most people who go to Omega think that the obvious threat is the hard-looking batarian fucker eyeing you up on the corner, or the greensuits swaggering around with their SMGs. It's never the staid docking agent who handles all your documents, or the shopkeeper who smiles and nods and takes your money, or the pretty young thing in the bar laughing at your shitty jokes.

That's exactly how Kaltoth likes it.

* * *

 **Boss Logah** , _'Boss of all Bosses,' Chieftain of the Logah Bloodline, Executive-Liaison of the VDF Vorcha Initiative_.

Boss Logah is the smartest, toughest, and most canny of the vorcha in Wobbly Space, and so, by rights, they are the 'Boss of all Bosses.'

Note that I said 'they,' rather than 'he' or 'she.' That's because Boss Logah, whilst initially born female, has chosen to develop both male and female sex organs in order to spawn their own line of Bosses, who will in turn be able to stake out their own Bloodlines. Should you meet Boss Logah in-person, their pronouns are 'them,' 'their,' and 'they.' Their hobbies are breeding and painting.

Boss Logah was the first vorcha to formally organize the vorcha religion of fire-worship within their broods (as far as one can organize such a thing). They were also the first of the vorcha Bosses in Citadel Space to agree to the wobblies' deal – having already done breeding deals with them for years. Most importantly, Boss Logah has received several rather interesting bionetic upgrades courtesy of VDF High Command. Some are obvious, such as superior cellular regeneration and muscle strength, but others are more subtle, including several highly advanced cognitive and telomere enhancements that I've managed to trace back to a yindo of former STG scientists on Omega.

What this means is that Boss Logah is the oldest vorcha alive, at twenty-six, but possesses the body of a five-year-old. It means that they can speak Galactic Trade Asaric, Volus Trade Standard, and a smattering of turian Clawspeak and human English. It means that they are quite comfortable making adult conversation and even visiting the Citadel. It means that Boss Logah is fully capable of understanding the long-term potential of their species' alliance with the wobblies, and is persuasive enough to talk the other Bosses into supporting it (though almost all of them already do).

Boss Logah has only had to eat three lesser Bosses whilst making their case. In the art of vorcha rhetoric and oratory, this is considered an overwhelmingly one-sided sign of agreement.

I've actually seen Boss Logah from a short distance here on Vol Prime, though oddly enough we haven't had a chance to talk. They are… physically impressive. Two meters and two hundred kilograms of nightmare fuel is not something I would like to meet on a battlefield, but watching them casually talk – and even _joke_ – with the aliens around them was honestly more disturbing. These Boss vorcha are clever, and what they lack in intellectual training they more than make up for in a kind of low cunning. They have finely honed survival instincts and an uncanny ability to read a room and perceive the pecking order, yet the Citadel still dismisses both species.

Welcome to the future of the Volus-Vorcha Initiative.

* * *

 **The Seeker** _of the Archive of All Under Heaven_.

We know almost nothing of the Seeker. Nobody does. I have bribed and traced and researched and charmed and hacked – and had others doing that for me as well – and we still know almost nothing. Few _volus_ know of the Seeker, let alone outsiders.

What little we do know is courtesy of Vigil, a burnt-out data-junkie and Wheel Priest in the Black Rim, a cryptic poem from a Citadel hanar, and a handful of esoteric religious texts here on Vol Prime and Irune itself.

The Seeker is supposedly the oldest volus alive, 'older than the other children of the Clouds as Okeer is older than the children of Vaul.' (The fact that that hanar compared the Seeker to Okeer is… unsettling, even in metaphor.) The Seeker is 'at once the Most High and the Most Low.' To look upon the Seeker is to gaze upon an answer to the volus past, and an open question as to its future – and that Wheel Priest was convinced that this was innately related to the future of humanity and perhaps of us all.

The volus religious texts are extremely strange and difficult to translate, using an extinct form of Cloudscript that relies on geometric spiral patterns that constantly twist and turn in on themselves in ways which shade meaning and context.

They say that the Seeker cannot die until the great shadows are banished.

 _(Addendum: Eyes only: Jack Harper: Sir, as per my private message and my… conversation, as it were, with this subject, I'll brief you in-person when (if?) we make it back to the Dog's Kennel. -Tiffany)_

* * *

 **Niftu Cal** , _venture capitalist, artist, philanthropist, 'biotic god,' celebrity par excellence, Demi-Gaur of the Cal Clan, Proctor of the Vol Protectorate, Chief Executive Officer of Niftu Combine, Brand Ambassador of the Tupari Corporation_.

Ah, Niftu Cal.

Legendary galactic kook, darling of gossip columnists and sixteen times cover star of GTMZ Magazine. What else can I possibly say about a man who claimed, in the same week, to have invented jeans, to be the aithntar of Aria T'Loak, to be responsible for the disappearance of the Protheans, and (this one's my favourite) having been the intimate poker buddy of one Jack Harper for the last twenty-five years? He's the only volus to have ever been given an entire Fornax spread or to have dated Aish Ashland. _(Addendum: Surprised? Why? Her taint gets more traffic than the Citadel. -Tiffany)_

Currently, he's romantically linked to Vexxy of Palaven, and no, I have no idea what the fuck either of them gets out of that relationship. Fame and attention? Money? Wobbly spiky sex? It's a mystery.

Moving on – Niftu also has a compulsive (and infamous) social media habit, normally either trolling his 'haters' ("if Earth First's approval rating dips any lower into the teens, Saracino will try and fuck it"), pimping his own brands ("Tupari: makes you forget you're really just a sad monkey, Earth-clan"), or just spouting Niftu-isms ("I WILL HARNESS THE POWER OF BROWNIAN MOTIONS TO USHER IN A NEW AGE OF DISCOUNTED PRODUCE"). It's working. He has nine billion followers. Each one of those comments got more likes than the entire human population. His ad revenue from social media views alone puts him in the galactic Fortune 2000.

Despite all this, or perhaps because of it, Niftu Cal is one of the most successful and active venture capitalists and artists in the galaxy. Like Dessu Cal, he hails from the Cal Clan, and is (after Dessu, his older cousin), the largest clan shareholder and a ranking Demi-Gaur, meaning he'll likely inherent joint ownership of the clan once his uncle is deceased. Niftu has pioneered multiple art styles, such as surrealcore (a visual art form, generally haptic, in which a subdued and intensely personal subject matter is juxtaposed with surrealist use of colour, form, and technique) and trapslide (a musical fusion of throbbing volus bass notes and tinkling percussion with the chord and tonal progression of outcast batarian slide-shift), and is the fourth most streamed artist of all time on the extranet. I have to admit his work is rather innovative and transcends cultural and racial boundaries.

His venture capital work is equally impressive, and he was the largest single investor in the series A, B, _and_ C funding (and IPOs) of Sirta Medical, Tupari, Zakara Ministry of Sound, and (most recently) BenCore Enterprises. _(Addendum: Guess it makes sense if he really is your poker buddy. -Tiffany)_

He's weirdly popular with the birds too, having acted as a patron and booster for several turian architects and textile manufacturers (all of whom have impeccable Hierarchy credentials). His real stroke of genius, however, was in providing free medical aid and rehabilitation services to any turian who was wounded whilst fighting the Facinus. As you can imagine, the birds were (and continue to be) deeply moved by this.

* * *

 **Kumun Shol** , _Chief Executive Officer of the Shol Combine, Sanctified Proctor of the Vol Protectorate_.

If Niftu Cal is the highest expression of wobbly swagger and gregarious genius, and Barla Von the peak of audacity versus caution, chaos versus order, of balance in all things, then Kumun Shol is a tragic reminder of what is left when a volus mind loses whatever balance it once possessed.

I mean, how crazy do you have to be to take on _Vigil_?

Make no mistake here – Kumun Shol is a genius among geniuses. The Shol Combine is an extraordinarily successful high-technology/speculative development firm (as we would see it). They have tested revolutionary technologies that have the potential to change galactic life as we know it. True superconducting materials that have the potential to almost completely eliminate energy loss over _vast_ distances. Frictionless bearings that produce effectively no waste heat or wear. 'Intelligent' super-lubricants that require no maintenance and which actively seek out the place where they can be most useful. Batteries that can slowly recharge themselves by absorbing background energy, Brownian motions, or even the waste energy of whatever machine they're a part of.

For his role in developing such marvels, and thus maximising both value retention and energy efficiency, Kumun Shol was Sanctified in his role as Proctor of the Vol Protectorate by the Ores Tashn himself, who claimed that Kumun Shol was 'a great general in the eternal struggle against Entropy.'

And yet none of this matters, because Kumun Shol lives what can only be described as a kind of half-life. Something is very wrong here.

Allow me to explain.

The Shol Combine has lost dozens of researchers and dozens more support personnel over the last several years, and those are just the ones that we can confirm. Others have simply gone insane and been quietly disposed of. No doubt there were many more we can't account for. Now, for a research combine like this, that isn't so unusual, per se – Noverian combines have the same problem, it tends to come with the territory. The problem is that these researchers were working in some _very_ specific and esoteric fields, things like M-theory, quantum-eezo interactions, dark matter and energy, dimensional mechanics, nonlinear mathematics, xenobiology and archaeology, and so on.

You know, the kind of things we keep an eye on.

Secondly, no one, and I mean _no one_ , not even us, has been able to reverse-engineer any of this technology, or at least the samples we were able to acquire. Much like certain kinds of asari or hanar devices, it's almost like the technology itself is actively resisting and mocking our attempts to tinker with it. Worse still, Vigil doesn't recognize most of it, and some of the concepts are beyond _Inusannon_ science, or at least his knowledge of it. The few bits he does recognize he thinks are Arcann – a species that predate the Insuannon by hundreds of thousands of years.

Third, Vigil has reported detecting exotic particle traces deep within wobbly territory, controlled by the Shol Combine, that are consistent with 'disjunction motion devices,' or, in layman's terms, 'jump drives,' very similar to those used by the Reapers and various precursor races.

Only, the wobblies don't have access to any of those. Or, they shouldn't.

Fourth, the Palavanus are at best deeply suspicious of Kumun Shol and the Shol Combine as a whole, privately saying (according to our sources on Vol Prime) that he has 'gravely offended the Spirits.' Relations are not violently hostile at this stage, and the Shol Combine can still move through Hierarchy Space, but the fact that Kumun Shol and the Shol Combine are now actively being monitored by the goddamned Deathwatch can't be good, and it's a development we need to take seriously. The Palavanus would not be acting this way without good reason.

I strongly suspect that at least a couple of the other Proctors are suspicious of him too, since they can't afford to ignore the Palavanus, and aside from that, a Proctor's observation and analysis skills are exquisite. They have no reason to directly move against him, but they're wary.

Finally, I actually met Kumun Shol very briefly on Vol Prime, and I'm here to tell you that that man is not mentally healthy or even stable. ( _Addendum: What happened after only reinforces that point. -Tiffany_ )

I've attached a range of independent third-party reports on his person, so you don't have to take my word for it, but that man is a such a tweaky, cuckoo-bananas mess he makes Thessial look like a Cheetos-munching stoner.

For the record, Kumun Shol is not a Depthwalker – in fact, he's so empathetic it seems to almost cause him physical pain, and he appears highly considerate of the people around him. His body language, by wobbly standards, is quite off, much more neurotic and mercurial. He has a range of tics and strange behavioural patterns: he either stares or has trouble making eye contact at all, he obsessively traces geometric patterns with his hand and enjoys feeling the surface textures of various objects, and he has some manic-depressive tendencies.

He is, needless to say, an incredibly engaging (if rather intense) conversationalist when he's stable.

He can also be quite gentle and sweet. He made me a drink and held my hand as we strolled through a meditative garden here on Vol Prime. He is also very fond of petting animals, which he finds calming and life-affirming. His current favourites are a family of rabbits he travels with.

I hope this man's story ends well for him… but I fear the worst. A being like this wouldn't risk everything to challenge Vigil unless it was of dire importance.

* * *

 **Message Header: HELNET BEGIN ENCRYPTION STRING**

 **NEGOTIATING ARBITRAGE HEADERS…CLEAR**

 **SYSFILL 393920-ADD-NINE:** _Cross check complete_

 **DAEDALUS-SEVEN-NINE-TWO :: MINSTA-792**

 **CREATING HANDSHAKE…ACKNOWLEDGMENT HANDSHAKE ACCEPTED**

 **BEGIN TRANSMISSION: MINSTA**

Mr. Harper, thank you for the update on Tiffany. Her shuttle arrived not long afterwards here on Vansaris. She is in good health and is… philosophical about the ordeal.

Rasa, Five, and several core-program Cerberus troopers under Centurion Gregar and Medtech Keyes have been dispatched with a medical-support shuttle to bring Rasa to Shepard's base. ( _As an appalling aside, apparently our troopers refer to her locale as the 'Butcher's Shop.' We really must have less of these terrible puns, Mr. Harper_.)

However, despite being uninjured and not catatonic from fright, I fear Tiffany is… rattled would be too kind a word. Perhaps I should have listened more when your operatives claimed she was not ready.

Having her work with Rasa and that pack of rapist, murderous, chipped up savages was sure to open her eyes to certain realities. While Rasa's mentality frightens me and the Lost Boys were monsters, I also know that Rasa is a consummate professional and does take her bodyguard jobs seriously.

So, on that count, Tiffany has a couple of light bruises, all but one of the Lost Boys are dead, and Rasa is in… well, as bad as shape as you can be and still be 'alive.' Given that I suspect Rasa found little value in Tiffany, her willingness to risk her life and lose her chosen followers is… deeply appreciated. Please convey to her my sincerest gratitude.

I am not unhappy that this occurred – although I'm hardly pleased – so much as deeply alarmed at Tiffany's belief that Vigil set some of this mess in motion.

While I appreciate that without Vigil we would all be either in a Commissariat reeducation camp or jaunty ashes decorating a shattered deep space base, and that Vigil is what is allowing us to stay competitive… I cannot help but feel concern at its ultimate goals and how disposable we are in pursuit of said goals. Furthermore, this particular incitement could have, according to Vigil, gone terribly wrong, with the destruction of Vol Prime, Irune itself, and most of the volus race. I do not have to spell out what that would have meant for the galaxy as a whole.

It would have also meant the death of my daughter.

House Minsta – my elder brother, both my younger brothers, my uncle, my cousins, and extended family – are aware of our link to Cerberus. They do not necessarily approve, but they understand the need for it, and the benefits we have gained from it over the years. That being said, no Family of the Second Rank can afford any direct links to you – especially now that we are out in the cold, so to speak.

That is why I will never inherit the House leadership, a fate I resigned myself to years ago.

Tiffany, on the other hand, should have been an unknown. Some of Tiffany's value, I had hoped, would be in her ability to not draw direct attention due to any lack of formal affiliation with Cerberus. Her low profile was likely to only be raised a touch on Vol Prime, I thought.

Massive explosions, open shootouts, anti-grain detonations and overloaded reactors that went semi-critical on Vol Prime _are not 'low profile_. _'_

I am not a maudlin man, Mr. Harper, but Tiffany is all I have left, really. My own name is in too much financial and business disgrace to ever be a force in the market, my family was displeased at the drama and media attention in my divorce, the method by which I severed ties with my university career did not endear me to anyone, and more than a few other placements have been denied me due to my link to Cerberus.

I am not complaining.

I know full well I wanted you to find something for Tiffany to do, due to her intellect and her approval of our goals. But on reflection, I think perhaps she would be better suited doing something much more… sedate.

If a trip to the Grand Salon of Vol Prime turned into nearly as bad a throwdown as we had on Ilium – with STG, Deathwatch, Broker assassins, Dancers, failed war priestesses, insane Arcann war machines powerful enough to concern Vigil, and the _Azure-Fucking-Lily_ – then sending her to Tuchanka, Dekunna, or, God help me, Rakhana is right out.

I will be awaiting Shepard and company on Vansaris, along with the chosen Honor Guard. Tiffany and I will accompany her to the Citadel and I will be happy to accommodate Lord Windsor and his daughter as escorts. I'm hoping Eliza and Tiffany can find friendship, as most of her current acquaintances are either in debt to House Chu or besotted with asari tramps (or worse, one of the younger sons of al Saud is in a relationship with a _turian female_ of all things).

In any event, while I would be happy to participate in any biological or physiological work that is required, I'd suggest the esteemed and skilled Doctor Sedanya (an asari who I actually like, given her own ugly experiences at the hands of that tramp Doctor Ciladya) would assist in any Cerberus File write-ups in the short-term while Tiffany recovers her nerve… and her verve.

And, reluctantly, I would also like to schedule time with Doctor Chambers and Tiffany to deal with any post-situational trauma, as her schedule allows.

-Dr. Galen Minsta


End file.
